


Some Assembly Required

by MrFancyfoot



Series: Putting It All Together [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angsty Schmoop, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fade Freestyling, Fluff and Smut, Foiled Schemes and Plots, Gen, Gratuitous Artistic Liberties, Happy Ending, Humor, I promise, Inquisitor and Not-Inquisitor, Literary References & Allusions, Magic freestyling, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Non-Inquisitor OC, POV Original Character, POV Solas, Past Abuse, Piercings/Tattoos, Schemes and plots, Sex Magic, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tags Subject to Change, Wordcount: Over 100.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 129,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrFancyfoot/pseuds/MrFancyfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Herald and the Prophet.  Earthlings.  To make it in this new world, they will have to work together.  And not die.  The Prophet's convinced that everything the universe over is trying its best to prevent just that.  The not dying part, that is.  There's no such thing as coincidence and more than one person's doing the creeping.  Keep your friends close and your sketchy, elfy mentors closer.</p><p>At least they understand each other's jokes.</p><p>-</p><p>Tags will update with story progress to avoid spoilers.<br/>Includes major and minor canon divergences.<br/>NSFW chapters (both graphic violence and sexual situations) marked with * . -Now with 100% more asterisks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Am I the only one who sees "Sim's Diamond"?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Inquisition and corresponding characters belong to BioWare. The story below is a free fanwork published solely for entertainment.
> 
> There are non-fictional references and allusions to fictional works to which I have no claim (Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, etc). There may also be references to non-fictional pop culture and historical figures and events. Nothing else is based upon real people and any coincidences herein are unintentional.
> 
> Rated for Language, Violence, Gore, and Sexual Situations.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And down the Rabbit Hole we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeavy artistic licensing going on here in order to make things a little more flowy with the introduction of a second person...and complication. This first part will be from her POV since I'm sure many of you are quite familiar with the general opening sequence, but from then, I'll switch things up more. Also, most chapters probably won't be neeearly as long as the first or sewn with game dialogue. xx
> 
> March 2017 Edit: New readers! Upon receiving some (much later) comments looking for refreshers regarding Bevin's powers and other stuff, I've decided to hash that all out in one convenient place on my tumblr: https://mrfancyfoot.tumblr.com/post/155738450064/some-assembly-required-it-didnt-come-with
> 
> So, if you'd like to read through with background details and spoilers for nearly everything, feel free to check it out.
> 
> September 2017 Edit: I have now added some fancy-schmancy CSS to SAR. Presently, it only affects the line breaks in each chapter. I've color-coded them to denote the POV (Purple/Turquoise for Bevin, Forest Green for Solas, Gold/Rift Green for Nikki), and the ones that show as dots are for scene changes or passages of time within a POV. You can toggle whether or not the work skin is on to show this effect (or hide it and just have normal line breaks) by clicking "Show/Hide Creator's Style" near the top of the page.

* * *

Fate's a fickle, sadistic bastard of a thing. Both women would, independently, come to this conclusion. Once awake, of course.

Bevin had come second through the glowing rift, seeing a girl reaching out to another woman. The ensuing energy blast had rocked the earth and sent her flying, losing sight of the other two women and the giant, glowing Sim's diamond. Scattered thoughts dimmed as her head pulsed wildly. The sight of blood upon her fingertips from her temple was the last thing she saw before her vision went black.

What she awoke to were her hands shackled in front of her and lots of yelling. Bevin tried to sit up to better see what was going on, but her vision swam and landed her back on the ground with an “oomph.” Her hearing pitched to where everything was just a high buzz. She held her head as best she could with the metal around her wrists.

There was more yelling, closer this time, masculine voices. A rattling of metal on metal and the grating swing of the cell door. Footsteps and then she was being roughly dragged up to her knees. She managed to regain enough balance to not immediately flop down on her face on the rough stoney ground, but she had to focus her vision and concentrate on the woman's speech for anything to reach coherency. The weird Russian accent didn't help.

“I suppose you are going to spin the same story?” The dark haired woman was right in her face and it took a moment to process her words, a moment that only served to aggravate the woman by the prodding to her arm.

“I...what? Where am I?” Bevin managed to get out.

“What do you remember?” the woman asked as she circled her.

Bevin's eyes scrunched closed as she struggled with her recent memories. “I was walking to the store – taking a short cut through the forest. There was a bright flash of green, a bright light. It's close to Halloween, so at first I thought I'd just stumbled onto someone's elaborate setup. But then spiders – the size of freaking cars – began pouring out of it!” She paused, trying to calm her heart that beat faster with each moment that came back to her. She couldn't panic now. “I tried to run, but I was dragged back towards the green light. The last thing I remember was watching someone – female, I think – reach out to a floating woman.”

“You are one of the only two survivors we found after the explosion at the Conclave,” the woman seemed to back off, if only slightly. Her lips pursed, “We need to find out the cause of the rift.”

“The what? Please, where am I?” Nothing made sense to her. Green lights, giant spiders, and now people yelling at her in strange accents wearing what appeared to be medieval armor.

The woman stepped back and turned to address a frocked woman who had been observing silently, “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will bring them to the rift.”

Another spoke up and Bevin's eyes focused on the girl standing cuffed just outside the cell. “What happened? You aren't answering any of our questions!” It struck Bevin that she was dressed equally out of place. Though the green spark at the blonde's hand threw her for a loop.

The dark haired woman began undoing Bevin's shackles, replacing them with rope ties, as what looked to be a soldier took her signal to release the blonde's and do the same. “It will be easier to show you,” she said, bringing Bevin to her feet.

She followed the woman out alongside the blonde, whom she cast several sidelong glances. Their eyes eventually met and Bevin mouthed, _This is weird!_ at her. Eyebrows rose in exasperated agreement.

“I'm Nichole,” the girl greeted softly.

“Bevin,” she replied with a nod. “So… Middle Earth, yeah?” Bevin made a slight gesture around them as they walked.

Nichole responded earnestly, “I know, right? It's so weird!”

“What's with the green light show going on there?” Bevin asked, pointedly glancing at Nichole's hand.

“No idea; I woke up with it. Hurt's like a bitch, though. Everyone keeps asking about it.” She grimaced as she turned her hand this way and that. She gave Bevin an odd look, “You very partial to face tattoos?” At Bevin's look of shock and confused, stumbled steps, she clarified, sort of, and awkwardly rubbed a thumb across Bevin's cheek, as if in attempt to rub something away.

Bevin looked about frantically, exclaiming, “Ugh, nothing's reflective!”

By this time, they'd reached a massive wooden door. As they stepped out into the blinding light and sudden cold, the female soldier announced, “We call it the Breach. It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It is not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Bevin was slack-jawed and speechless, but Nichole exclaimed, “Holy shit!” upon laying eyes on the massive whirl of green light and energy.

As the woman's words caught up to her, Bevin repeated, “Did she say “demons?””

A stray bolt of light shot from the rift in the sky and Nichole fell to her knees with a scream as the mark on her hand glowed brighter.

The woman stood before Nichole, “Each time the breach expands, your mark spreads. And it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time!”

Nichole gasped in pain, unable to say anything but nod frantically.

There were whispers and hostile looks all around them as they pressed on. “What's with the looks?” Bevin finally asked, uneasy at all of the attention and anger they were receiving. She wasn't sure if it was only the cold that was making her shiver.

The woman ushered them on quickly, “They have decided your guilt. They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between Mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together, now they are dead.”

Bevin wasn't sure where to begin with the questions that brought up. “Mages? Like, magic?”

At the same time, Nichole asked, “What's a Templar?”

The woman stopped and turned to them as they stood on the beginnings of a path, “You two are truly not of this world? Does your world not have magic?”

Bevin blinked, “Unless this suddenly gets steampunky, _w_ _e_ have far greater advances in technology, but nothing I'd call magic. We are from the same world, right?” she addressed Nichole.

Nichole made to speak, but the woman brought them through a set of doors and onto a wide wall. She turned to each of them and cut through their wrist bindings with a blade.

They were ushered into a tented area. “We do not have much to spare, but your clothes alone will not do in this valley,” she explained. She hurriedly spoke with the woman manning the tent, who passed a sneer their way. Pressed hard enough, Bevin was finally handed a long coat and a pair of boots, both of which were quite too big. She flung the leather coat on over her sweater and athletic leggings, then laced the boots up her calves as tight as she could. Tennis shoes were grudgingly abandoned and the attending woman looked them over suspiciously.

Nichole was passed a shorter jacket for over her sweatshirt and jeans and given a pair of gloves. Her hiking boots were deemed good enough to handle wherever they were going.

Though the air was cold, the wind was dead, so their clothes weren't terrible to be marching off in. Bevin scrunched down into the high collar of her coat and tucked her arms across her as they walked back out on their way.

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach,” the woman explained, looking to Nichole.

Nichole and Bevin followed briskly behind her as they wove around the set defenses and soldiers scurrying to and fro. As they were passing over another section of wall, a blast of green light struck at the stone, crumbling it beneath them. While Bevin was able to scramble backwards enough to avoid falling down the destroyed wall, the woman and Nichole weren't so lucky.

Bevin looked on in horror as another green blast struck close, but this time, ghastly, shadowed forms arose from where it struck. The woman drew her sword and shield, but Nichole had nothing with which to defend herself – and for that matter, neither did she!

Spying a spilled crate of simple swords, Bevin began picking her way down the shambles of stone as fast as she could. She called out to Nichole and pointed towards the weapons just as two more creatures were rising from the ground. The female warrior was too preoccupied facing her own set of demons to be able to help them in time. The smart thing to do would probably have been to have stayed back up on the little wall that remained, but Bevin didn't think Nichole could take on both creatures at once and she'd feel bad abandoning someone who was apparently just as lost in this as she was (perhaps even more so).

Both took up a sword and began slashing at a demon. Her own reared back suddenly and came down upon her with force. She braced her sword and arm above her in defense, eyes scrunching closed reflexively in fear, and prepared for a blow that would send her reeling at the least. What she felt was a push of energy and the feel of static in the air, a low hum that soon died. Opening her eyes, she saw that the demon was no more than ashes and Nichole was looking at her oddly, her own monster also gone quite suddenly.

The warrior came racing back to them, sword still drawn offensively. She yelled in demand, “Drop your weapons!” Even though they complied, she still rounded on Bevin. “You are a Mage!” she spat.

Bevin could do nothing but stutteringly deny the accusation. Her heart fluttered high in her throat – Mages were clearly not held in the highest esteem here. “I-I don't know what happened!”

“You made some kind of staticky, purple sphere thing and the monsters disintegrated when they hit it,” Nichole explained, looking more wary of her as she stepped away.

Bevin could only look on in wide-eyed disbelief, “I've never done anything like that before.”

The warrior rubbed at her face, gritting her teeth, “This...complicates things further. But I cannot protect either of you out here nor can I expect you to be defenseless. Take up your swords and watch your backs.”

The group continued on, cutting down anything in their paths that sprang up from the ground, albeit sloppily and clumsily on the parts of Bevin and Nichole. Every once and awhile, Bevin felt that static building again, a kind of itch in her fingers that she didn't know how to scratch.

“We're getting close to the rift. You can hear them fighting!” the warrior announced.

Nichole yelled back, “Who's fighting?”

“You'll see soon. We must help them!”

And what a sight it was.

Bevin felt more a liability than a help, but did her best to slash at anything that came her way. Eventually the numbers of demons were cut down.

“Quickly, before more come through!” Bevin turned to see who she could only assume was Legolas sans hair grab onto Nichole's glowing hand and thrust it towards the rift.

The crystalline green aura seemed to fold in on itself before disappearing in a shatter of blinding light.

“Woah! What did you do?” Nichole exclaimed, brown eyes wide and clutching at her hand.

“I did nothing. The credit is all yours,” he replied in an accent softer than that of the warrior. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky, also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized that the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake. And it seems I was correct.” Something he was clearly happy about going by the twitch of a smile at his lips.

Nichole was still awestruck, “So magic _is_ real!”

“What, did you miss _him_ flinging fireballs around?” Bevin jerked her head towards (what she was hoping she was correct in assuming the race of) the elf and rolled her eyes.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” the warrior added, speaking over their exchange.

The elf nodded, “Possibly.” He turned to Nichole, addressing her once more, “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know. And here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever,” a man walked up, swinging a crossbow to his back and adjusting his gloves.

Nichole stepped over and bent close to her ear, whispering loud enough that Bevin was sure nothing actually went missed by any of those gathered here, “Bevin! Is that a dwarf or a hobbit?”

Bevin elbowed her sharply.

The man cocked an eyebrow at the blonde, “Never seen a dwarf before?” Noticing they both had a blank stare going, he asked, “Where are you guys from anyway?”

“Texas,” came Nichole's one worded reply as her gaze shifted curiously to the elf standing nearby perusing them with equally curious eyes.

“Michigan,” Bevin added. The two looked at one another.

“How come you got the warm coat? You should totally be used to this!” Nichole exclaimed.

“It's the beginning of fall. And it was in the high 60s; we haven't had snow yet,” Bevin then amended, “At least not in the lower peninsula.”

“So you're not from the same place?” the dwarf asked.

“Opposite sides of the same country,” Bevin answered. She shifted on her feet, rubbing her hands together, feeling the cold beginning to seep in now that they weren't currently moving. “I keep asking, and hopefully the fourth time's the charm, but where are we?”

The elf was the one to finally grace them with an answer, “We are in Ferelden of Thedas.”

“Not a place – either of those,” came Bevin's doubtful answer. “On our planet,” she added when it looked as through he was going to protest.

“ _Seriously_ _?_ ” Nichole plead, “I was really hoping we were, like, in the Swiss Alps or something, and this was just some really serious LARPing...gone too far.”

“Definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” she replied to her with a chopped laugh.

“Kansas your country?” the dwarf asked, brow furrowed.

“Sorry, it's a literary reference from our world. Kansas is another state in our country, though,” Bevin clarified.

“But how do we get back?” Nichole hit the main question on the head. At this point, she was also fidgeting and rubbing her hands together.

Bevin snorted, “I'm still not fully convinced I'm _not_ dreaming.” She looked up at the green expanse of the sky. “Granted, were I dreaming, _I'd_ be able to shoot fireballs at will and not just this weird static stuff,” she flicked her fingers in front of herself watching as the occasional blue-violet spark sprang forth.

“Channeling typically helps,” the elf supplied. “There is no magic in your world?”

“No, though I may hold out for my letter from Hogwarts yet,” her answer got a snorted laugh out of Nichole and more odd looks from the rest of the group.

“She's clearly a threat. As such, I'm putting _you_ in charge of her,” the warrior gave a sharp look at the elf.

Bevin was incredulous, her eyes widening, “ _She_ has the glowy, green, auroric leech in her hand and _I'm_ the threat?”

“Yeah, but you're a threat _because_ of your lack of skill. Demonic possession and all that,” the dwarf did look at her uneasily.

“That raises _far_ more questions than answers,” she despaired, dropping her arms to her sides. “What if Nichole's a Mage?”

“She is not,” the elf answered. “Aside from the mark on her hand, Nichole has no mana connection to the Fade.”

Nichole made a look like she wasn't sure if this was good or bad news for her. “Can we do names or something so that I can stop referring to you two as Gimli and Legolas in my head?” At Bevin's huff of disapproval Nichole rounded on her with her hands at her hips, “You can't say you haven't been doing the exact same thing! You're the one who brought up Lord of the Rings first!”

She flushed with a scoff, “Yeah, but I didn't feel the need to voice it!”

“Everything's gibberish between the two of you, but anywho: I'm Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwanted tagalong,” he sent a wink the warrior's way.

“Nice crossbow you got there,” Nichole complimented.

“Ah, isn't she?” the look he gave it was one of love. “Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

“You named your crossbow “Bianca”?” Bevin asked.

Varric nodded, “Of course, and she'll be great company in the valley!”

The warrior cut in, “Absolutely not! Your help is appreciated, Varric, but-”

He gestured about around them, “Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. You need me.”

The woman walked off with a huff.

The elf took the opportunity to speak, “My name is Solas. I am pleased to see that you both still live.”

“He means, 'I kept _your_ mark and _your_ head wound from killing you while you slept,'” Varric inserted, gesturing to each of them in turn.

“Though _you_ should not be up and about so soon.” He looked pointedly to where a thick bandage covered the still-throbbing gash at Bevin's temple.

“So, Nichole and…?” Varric eyed the yet unintroduced party.

“Bevin! Sorry,” she rushed with a bit too much force behind the name. “My name is Bevin. It's a pleasure to meet you both. And I do appreciate having my head on right, thank-you.”

“Minus the marks,” Nichole added under her breath.

Bevin's hands flew to her face, “Oh yeah!” and she looked about once more for any even slightly reflective surface. Her eyes settled on a patch of ice and she paced over to it. It was difficult to make out very clearly, but she appeared to have a dark raindrop-like shape about the size of her thumbnail angled across either cheekbone below the outer corners of her eyes. She thumbed at one trying to rub it away, but it held fast to her pale skin. She settled for fixing back some of the auburn curls that had escaped the knot at the base of her neck and the few pins scattered about her head.

“You did not have them prior to arriving here?” Solas questioned from behind her.

Bevin shook her head and frowned, “No. What are they?”

“They are not connected to the rift magic, beyond that, I shall have to do more research, I'm afraid,” Bevin tried not to flinch away as his cool fingertips traced across one cheek, though she sucked in a breath at the apparent sensitivity of the marks.

She danced away from him to return to Nichole's side. “Well, my life has become a terrible cliché,” she began flatly, “I left my apartment to get milk at the store two blocks away, and upon returning, if at all, I will get to figure out what to do with magical face tattoos.”

“At least you can try makeup. As you can see, not even gloves will hide this thing,” Nichole lifted her hand.

“This is true. I could be worse off,” she ceded the point.

“So, you seem to be quite knowledgeable in all this,” Nichole addressed Solas.

The warrior, whose name was still “Xena” in Bevin's head, filled them in, “Solas is an apostate – well versed in such matters.”

“Technically all Mages are now apostates,” Solas informed them. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade. Far beyond the experience of any Circle Mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach.”

“We must cease delaying and make our way to the forward camp quickly,” the Warrior Princess was antsy to be back on their way.

Nichole mumbled under her breath as they began walking after her once more, “Off to Mordor we go.”

“I do kinda feel like a Sam, Frodo,” Bevin was totally feeling this analogy.

“A muggle Harry Potter and his magical scar,” Nichole played along. “I guess that makes you Hermione!” she laughed.

At the very least, it was helping to dissolve the tension in the air. “A J to your K! The Robin to your Batman!”

“That one's not magical,” Nichole laughed.

“Yeah, it was getting away from me,” she grinned before her vision swam.

She suddenly found herself in the midst of a battle. The air is almost unbearably warm around her, heavy with the smell of soot and burning...something. All around her arrows are being fired down from above, swords striking at the flesh of demons. Everything is cast in a sickly color of green from a nearby rift – this one far larger than the one she had just seen closed.

There are shouts from all sides; some in warning, others in pain. Everything unbelievably loud, the ringing in her ears alone is painful. Her hands are gripped hard around a staff and she feels herself throw a charged blast at a spectral demon...somehow.

Her head automatically shifts over to where she sees Nichole trying to close the rift. She's watching for anything that may attack the blonde while she's concentrating on her priority. The ground shakes and Bevin's vision seesaws. A quick turn to the right and a massive demon is approaching. It's too close! Everyone near it is trying in vain to keep it from moving forward, but it's treating them like little more than annoying flies.

The demon lifts its arm and suddenly a whip of electricity is flying through the air. In one motion, the whip's flying over their heads and suddenly knocking Nichole several yards back into the crumbled wall.

Bevin's running to her, but Nichole isn't getting back up. There's more shouting around her, people trying to make their way over to her. Bevin's the first one to her side and sees the blood pooling under her, the flayed flesh at her throat.

The sight makes her queasy, compounded by the abrupt feeling of being pulled away.

Bevin blinked and found herself cross-eyed looking up the blade of a sword held by the owner of one of the nastiest glares she'd ever had leveled on her. “Um, what happened?” she asked, eyes unmoving from the weapon as she struggled to resist raising her hands in defense. Her heart climbed up into her throat once again to thrash around in a fashion she experiencing all too often lately.

Nichole appeared by the woman's shoulder, a worried look on her face, “Your face went all glowy blue and you fainted.”

Now that she mentioned it, her face felt hot and icy all at once. Her hand raised reflexively to feel the new marks. She jerked back at the other woman's bracing of her sword at her neck, only then realizing that her head was in someone's lap. A furtive glance to the right revealed Varric with his hand braced on his crossbow, so that left – a glance up – the elf looking down at her concernedly, his brow furrowed.

Bevin looked back to Nichole, “I saw you die!”

“What do you mean you “saw?” How do we know she hasn't been possessed?” the warrior demanded, eyes narrowed.

She tried to sit up, giving the woman a sour look and pushing herself forward to sit up anyway when she moved to prevent her. Not knowing how to address the second question, though she highly doubted it was at all addressed to her for answering, Bevin attempted to describe what happened, “Everything went black and then I was standing in the middle of a battle. At one of those rifts – you were all there! I see this giant demon thing and it's got a whip made of lightning. It's stomping all around; y'all are doing a _horrible_ job of keeping it contained.” Bevin heard a scoff, but continued, using emphatic arm gestures where appropriate, “Its arm's waving around and the whip snags Nichole – sends her flying across the battle field! She's bled out a ton by the time I get there.” She paused. “And then I blink, and here I am on the ground with your sword two inches from skewering me.”

There was a battle going on in the eyes of the warrior. She'd just added to the pile of complications that seemed to be growing by the minute. Frankly, Bevin didn't blame any of them for thinking it farfetched, for even she _herself_ did, but if _that_ was what awaited them at some point in the future, there were going to be some issues with the whole “key to our salvation” gig Nichole had going on. Hard to be something when you're dead, after all.

“Solas?” the warrior deferred with a sigh, knowing this was well out of her area of expertise.

“Like the magic connected with the Breach, this is unlike any I have seen,” the elf admitted from crouched next to Bevin. She could tell that he wanted to get all touchy again, there was just the slightest twitch in his fingers and brow, but was thinking better of it this time. “If what she says is true, however, we will need to take extra precaution during this battle. A vision of the future not yet come to pass may be able to be altered from its course.”

Varric spoke up, “But where does it take place? Can't do much to change anything if we don't know when and where this happens.”

“Bevin, what do you remember of the scenery? Was there anything that could be identifying?” Solas asked her earnestly.

She closed her eyes tightly and rested her forehead in her palm, concentrating to recall everything that she saw. “This rift is much bigger than the last. Parts of a building – ruins. There are big spires of rock cracked with green, glowing light. Scatterings of red crystals.” Her hands moved like she was plotting everything for a map, “Uhm...the rift's right over a section of the building that's still standing. There are arches on parts of it. Arrows are being shot from above.”

“What you've described may be the Conclave, where the explosion took place,” the warrior was pondering what to do with this information. “Leliana should be ahead, we must confer with her to know the status of our forces.”

Solas helped Bevin to her feet and they were off once more, Varric occasionally asking questions of the two younger women.

Bevin found herself lowly whistling the Men in Black theme, placing it squarely in Nichole's head going by her head movements and occasional hum. She watched the warrior marching several paces before them and a question came to bag her: she still hadn't caught her name and was still referring to her by “Xena” silently. She nudged the blonde next to her and threw a nod towards the third woman, “Did you catch her name?”

Nichole glanced at the woman and took a moment to recall it, “Cassandra.”

She mumbled her thanks. “You don't seem very perturbed by any of this,” Bevin remarked to her fellow modern girl who kept on keeping on even though she had just been told of her possible approaching death.

Nichole took a moment, “Well, you saw it, right? There must be a reason for that. Maybe you're _meant_ to change it.”

“That's mighty optimistic,” Bevin replied with a smile that she didn't quite feel. Damn near optimistically _stupid_ – had Bevin seen her _own_ death with such clarity, she'd be hightailing it out of here. And now the pressure was on her to prevent the death of another.

There was another rift before they reached their current destination. This one went down more quickly now that everyone had a better idea of what was expected.

Once on this wall, they got yelled at by some religious cardinal who demanded that she and Nichole be cuffed and taken off someplace for trial. He clearly wasn't exactly well liked and Cassandra shot this down swiftly. At the moment, she was talking troop movements and numbers with Leliana, the woman she'd last seen when waking up in that cell.

A hand on her arm broke her from her stare off to the distance. “Here,” Solas was holding what looked like a long, slightly knobby stick out to her.

Bevin took it from him lightly and turned it about in her hands, sucking in a breath when she realized that this was what she'd been holding in her vision. The smooth feel of the dark wood was the same. An ebb and flow of cool energy heated to her touch. She felt like she'd placed her hands into the gentle current of a river. “I had this in the vision,” she told him. “How do I use it?” It wasn't exactly like she could stab things with it and if she couldn't get it past being a glorified club, it would be nothing but a downgrade from her sword.

“We shall address your complete lack of training at a later time,” Oh, look! Another optimist. She chose to ignore the tone that suggested he thought it absurd that a world without magic would exist. He lead her to an out of the way area, “A simple energy attack is fairly intuitive. The staff will attune to your mana.” He took his own staff and aimed a weak pale blue blast at an out-of-the-way rock off the wall. “Focus on the feel of the magic with the staff and push it out while aiming.”

Bevin turned towards their makeshift target and set her full focus on the staff in her hands. She found the flow easily and concentrated on pushing it back and forth.

Either out of impatience or need, though possibly both, Solas grabbed ahold of her staff. Bevin could feel the magic surge forward with much more force, and she promptly found herself doubled over sneezing.

She stumbled back, face inflamed with embarrassment and a tingling across her nose and cheeks. She could see that Solas looked shocked, a look she doubted he often wore, but Varric was nearby positively shaking with laughter. Even Nichole caught giggles despite not having a clue what had just happened.

“That a normal reaction there, Chuckles?” Varric got out.

“No, that is actually quite bizarre,” his eyes were laughing even if his face had sunk back into its default of “mild.”

Determined to move past this, Bevin regained her composure and the few bits of her pride left and once again focused on blasting that damn rock. She concentrated on giving the magic a strong kick in the ass out of the staff. A blast, probably stronger than it needed to be, of white energy tinged in violet shot forth from the end of her staff and hit about ten feet to the right and three feet up of her target. Not a terrible start, she thought.

“Again,” Solas demanded. And so she repeated this a good dozen times until she was hitting the crumbling rock with consistency.

She was feeling the drain and masked her breather with a question, “So, earlier I apparently made a barrier...thing,” she wiggled her fingers in an arch over herself. “How do I do that?” From behind Solas, Nichole mocked her gesture with much gusto.

Solas arched a brow but answered, “Magic is based in Will. Press your magic out as before, instead, however, shape it around you into the state that is desired.”

Closing her eyes, Bevin dipped into that flow of energy once again. She drew it out slowly this time and tried to form it around herself. At the heavy, building feel of static in the air, her eyes opened. The air around her was a blue-violet haze that gave off the occasional crackle and hiss. Everyone had backed off, save Solas, who glowed blue under what she assumed was his own barrier.

The elf “hm”-ed and held out a hand to run along the out area of the magic she'd summoned up. He was able to pass through the magic, but it reacted violently to the passage, sending up sparks along his arm. The same energy that passed along her skin like a warm breeze likely would have singed and stung him. “Can you solidify it?” he asked.

Varric called over, “Maybe a little less electricity, too! Making my chest hair stand on end.”

She grimaced trying to think of a way to do that. Thinking of the hard, spherical glass of a snow globe, Bevin tried to reform the magic around her. The air cleared around her and pushed itself into a hardened, crystalline form. Bevin frowned, biting her lip. This didn't seem _quite_ right, either.

Bevin lifted her staff thinking it would knock against the hardened barrier, but, to her surprise, it passed right through in a ripple of energy. She tried to shoot through it. This was the greater surprise to her: the blast passed right through like there was nothing there at all and went on to strike at the rocks beyond them. Huh.

“A little unconventional, but it seems you have something that works for you,” Solas rapped lightly against the barrier with a knuckle and it sounded like solid glass. His voice was a little muffled.

“It kinda feels like I'm in a fishbowl,” she responded. With another thought the barrier dissolved around her and she felt some of her mana return to her. The ambient noise cleared and returned to its normal volume.

“Well, Sneezy, looks like we're on our way again,” Varric noticed Cassandra marching over to them.

Once Cassandra saw that she had their collective attention, she waved them over to the table that held their maps. “Leliana will be rallying her forces to the temple. We currently have two options for getting there. The first is to take the direct road and make our way through with our forces – it will be quicker.”

Leliana spoke, “The quickest, but not the safest route. The second option would be to take the mountain pass while our forces charge as a distraction.”

Cassandra had a look of distaste, “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path; I believe it too risky.” She addressed the group, “Your thoughts?” She was met with blank looks. Up until this point, everyone had pretty much been just following her orders and directions.

Bevin had no experience with these kinds of things and she doubted Nichole did, either. She glanced up at the blonde who merely shrugged and said, “I just have the flashy hand light, you're the psychic.”

Bevin scoffed, “I am hardly qualified to make this kind of judgment call. Though if the mountain pass has even the slightest chance of picking up more people, that's where I cast my vote.” Then she grumbled, “Without knowing any other details.” She then took a few grateful swallows of water from a flask that was being passed around.

And when everyone else just kind of grunted in agreement, that was how they found themselves walking along treacherous mountain paths with snow being blown into their faces by the strong winds that had kicked up. Bevin knew that they probably wouldn't be here if she hadn't opened her mouth. She was trying really hard to _not_ regret this.

Bevin rubbed at her face and ears trying to get some more warmth back into them.

“You alright there, Sneezy?” Varric asked from a little ways behind her.

“My ears hurt...and my face hurts. And my feet hurt,” she complained, the list went on. It was kind of a general bodily _thing_.

Nichole turned her head to look back at her. “The Michigander's the one who can't take the cold!” she teased with a laugh.

“Well, it's no wonder with all that metal in your head, kid.” Ah, Varric had caught sight of her mostly hidden piercings through her hair. But he was right, the studs and rings were freezing the surrounding skin faster. The small gold ring in her left nostril wasn't exactly helping the situation with her face, either. At least the others were covered by her clothes.

“So, how many do you have?” he asked.

No, she wasn't in the mood to play this game. She stuck her tongue out at him and refused to answer.

They finally made it with little incident to a wooden rig built up to the entrance of a mine on the side of the mountain. And Bevin realized she had an issue. Her staff. Having only two hands. And the many ladders up.

Prior to now, it had been used fairly heavily as a walking stick. She noticed that Solas' stuck to his back with the aid of...velcro magic. She didn't exactly want to ask him for help again, but it was that or explain to Varric and his knowing look why exactly she was staring intently at the back of the elf.

“Yo, Solas?” she called.

He turned to her expectantly, “Yes?”

She motioned with her staff, “How do I do the whole 'staff sticking to your back' thing?”

“Magic,” he said flatly, earning an unamused look from the new Mage.

“Four year-olds can typically figure that level of stuff out, Bevin,” Varric teased.

“Four year-olds are four. I've had less than a day,” she quipped back.

“Use your magic to hold it against yourself,” the elf explained. In a way that Bevin decided was _not_ actually explaining.

She still tried to do as he said. To her _utter_ shock, it didn't work. She didn't exactly have all day to work on this, though.

Seeing her not get it, Solas took her staff and magicked it to her back himself. This lead to another sneezing fit on Bevin's part.

“I was rather hoping this had been a fluke,” it sounded almost like an apology and he helped steady her on her feet. At least the staff had stayed put and the episode seemed to be over.

“I'm going to die before we get there,” Bevin bemoaned rubbing at her nose with her fingers as the tingles across her face slowly faded. She'd nearly whacked her head against the rocky expanse next to them.

Cassandra and Nichole had already begun making their way up the wooden platforms. Varric motioned for Bevin to head up next.

The only good thing about entering the mine was that it blocked the chilled wind. They quickly dispatched the few demons haunting the place, Bevin with a little more aggression than normal, and found bodies belonging to part of the lost squad at the mine's exit. Both Bevin and Nichole tried to avoid looking at them, neither having the stomach for that kind of gore up close and personal yet.

The group drove on, keeping their eyes peeled and ears alert for the remaining soldiers.

Said soldiers were eventually found alive at yet another rift. With their combined efforts, the rift went down in no time. Thankfully, while these scouts had been roughed up a bit, they were in well enough shape to agree to tag along and help at the temple.

As they neared the site, Bevin felt her nerves come alive. And, as much as she tried to hide it, Bevin could see that Nichole was not unaffected. They were both jittery in anticipation of what was to come and what would come to be.

There were bodies around them now. Burnt and twisted and ash. They'd been struck fast and hard enough by the explosion that death had at least been quick. They continued on through what was left standing of the temple.

Bevin sucked in a stuttered breath as she looked down upon the battlefield from her vision. “This is it,” she confirmed.

Varric looked about, “The Breach is a long way up.”

There were footsteps from behind them. “You're here! Thank the Maker.” Leliana jogged forward from her men.

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” Cassandra commanded. She then addressed Nichole, “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

Nichole looked beyond her to where the rift shimmered, “How do I even get up to that thing?”

“This rift was the first, and it is the key,” Solas spoke. “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

“Then let's find a way down. And be careful,” Cassandra was already making her way down through the rubbled path.

A loud voice echoed over them. They took guesses as to its identity, but no-one could know for sure what they were hearing. Varric gave a warning against touching the red crystals – red lyrium he called it. He voiced his concern over it being here.

The second voice, this one calling for help, Cassandra identified as belonging to the Divine Justinia. Soon after, they heard Nichole's echoing in answer to the Divine's pleas.

A vision played out before them. Nichole running in answer to the divine. Off a ways, Bevin saw herself fall to the ground out of thin air, then stumble up to her knees, her face currently bare of the marks. The Divine told them to run. “We have intruders,” called a voice, a visage wrapped in shadows. “Slay the humans.” The image shattered in a bright light.

Cassandra rounded on them, “You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she-? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?” They could only shrug and shake their heads, not having any concrete answers themselves.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place,” answered Solas. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe that with the Mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention fro the other side.”

“That means demons! Stand ready,” Cassandra called out in warning. All around them, soldiers readied their weapons and got into position.

Nichole was taking deep breaths beside Bevin. “I've got your back,” Bevin encouraged. “You concentrate on the rift.” Nichole nodded and Bevin readied herself as she lifted her hand and began opening the rift.

Immediately, the huge demon from her vision seemed to come to life out of a stone wall. She and Nichole ran past everyone to concentrate on sealing the rift from the opposite side while the big demon was kept at bay.

Bevin blasted minor demons away, flitting around Nichole who was deep in concentration. She kept a wary eye on what Solas had identified as a Pride demon, vigilant that the battle could turn without notice.

The Pride demon was pushing past soldiers, the threat of being crushed under its feet enough to move many. It was already whipping electricity around.

“Keep it back!” Bevin warned out to the forces as she guided Nichole further around the rift to stay as far away from the demon as possible. She had no idea where in this battle she had entered the vision, or if things were already going differently.

Staff held high, Bevin summoned up a barrier around them. It crystallized around them even as Bevin shot off another specter. The Pride demon let out a mighty roar and electricity crashed down around them seconds later.

The barrier shattered over them like glass into thousands of shards, but she and Nichole had remained safe from the attack.

Bevin erected another barrier, but wasn't sure how much longer she could keep this up. She certainly couldn't hold the barrier while attacking anymore. A pair of demons clawed at the barrier behind them, though they were quickly dispatched by a soldier who took up a closer position to them.

Nichole let out a strangled yell and the rift surged around them. As she fell to her knees, Bevin saw what was left of the demons disintegrate in flashes of green. She jerked forward and caught Nichole before she fell all the way. She braced Nichole while stumbling back until they were both flopped on the ground. The other woman was completely spent and already out.

Bevin let her head lay back on the ground, eyes closing in exhaustion, her breathing harsh but deepening. She eventually felt Nichole being lifted off of her. Voices spoke around her but she was too tired to make them out.

“You are still alive,” this voice was much closer, familiar. She couldn't help but let out a sharp laugh. It kind of hurt.

“Can you stand?” he asked, attempting to help her sit up.

“I can't even move my arms, the fuck makes you think I can stand?” she slurred out. She peeked through her lashes at the elf, wishing nothing more but for a hot bath and a comfy bed. She'd been vaguely aware of being lifted and eventually put on some kind of stretcher to be transported somewhere. A blanket was draped over her and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	2. A Puppetmaster Sews His Strings and the Banner Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas plots, our heroes awaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV changes should be easy to pick out, but if they ever get confusing, let me know. Still some partial clips of dialogue/scenage, but I'm still trying to solidify having two “Inquisitors” and the opening bits help that. As a heads up for the future, I will be ignoring parts of the cannon and lore, changing some, and messing with some timelines.

 

* * *

If Solas had hair, it'd be falling out in stress. In the span of a few days, his life had become so much more complicated. He could deal with the anchor and the Herald. It would be hard, but not terribly difficult. No-one knew the origins of the power save for himself.

But the one who was now being called The Prophet of Andraste was where the headaches began. The source and breadth of her powers were completely unknown. At this time, they seemed infantile, but she had shown bounds of potential in the little time she had been here. Had she been born to this world, she could have been quite the accomplished Mage. What could her visions show her? Would there even be more? Were they only future based? How far into the future? Could she be shown the past? Could she learn to control her powers at will? There were so many questions that needed answers.

She was a potential threat. The one who could expose him for what and who he was before the time was right. She lie sleeping feet away on the spare bed. They really had thrown her under his care, frightened over her lack of formal Mage training but having no other reliable Mage to train her. Their fear of her becoming an abomination was greater than their fear of her becoming an apostate. Her current holy status and regard likely played a large role, as well. At least he'd been thrown this boon.

He would have to keep her close. Give her no reason to doubt him. If he played his cards right, he might even gain a helpful ally for the future. He would not put her through the traditional Mage training that often resulted in broken, fearful minds. Freely moldable, she could even have greater potential not bound by Circle teachings. In his current state, his magic was not strong enough to be able to prevent her from doing much damage should she manage to connect him with Fen'Harel and try to take her visions to the authorities. On the other hand, should she make it a habit to seek him out, he may be able to better shape the future and even speed his plans along.

Solas watched her shift in her sleep. She would wake soon and those at the Chantry would whisk her away first. Their second charge was still quite out of it and under Adan's watchful gaze, and Solas guessed that she would take another day or two at the most to awaken.

A young boy had brought a change of clothes for her. Solas had sent him off again for food. He'd thought about leaving the hut for the time being, but decided that he would start off their relationship by being the one to personally return her affects.

He turned a small cased object about in his hands. He'd been all through it by now, of course. Felt the odd rectangular card with raised numbers, the smooth pair of cards with her picture and information – her name read Bevin C. Delanay. Studied what appeared to be her local currency. Read the notes of reminders written in her neat hand. Several small keys and baubles dangled off of one of the corners by a metal binder. The long, thin white cords that lead from it. It was all quite fascinating. He would have to ask her about the metal box that made up the bulk of the object, however.

 

* * *

 

Nichole turned onto her side and woke with a loud groan. She felt like she'd been hit by a truck. It took her a few minutes to finally open her eyes. She frowned at the light coming through the window; it was too bright and probably past midday.

She lifted her left hand before her, scowling deeper at the sight of the Mark. It hadn't been a dream. She'd hoped she would wake up back in her own bed. That all of this had been some fleeting fantasy.

She sat up fully, noticing her hair fall about her shoulders. Someone had undone it from its ponytail, washed it, and brushed it out. Looking down, she took note of the soft beige nightshirt she'd been dressed in. Great. She'd been washed and dressed by some stranger. At least she felt clean.

Looking around the room while stretching, Nichole noticed a pile of clothes, her hiking boots nearby looking the cleanest they'd _ever_ been. God, they'd even cleaned her shoes!  The coat she'd been given was neatly folded over a chair.

Her back finally cracked and she swung her legs over the edge of the bed with a sigh. Nichole jumped at the sound of a door opening. A young boy entered with a tray of what looked like food. She smiled brightly at him, but he took one look and threw himself on the ground.

“I'm sorry, my Lady, I didn't know you were awake!” he apologized. “I am but a humble servant. You are back in Haven.” He stuttered, “They say you saved us! The Breach stopped growing; just like the Mark on your hand! It's all anyone has talked about for the past three days!”

“Three _days_?” Nichole exclaimed. She hadn't thought she'd been out that long. She would have guessed a day, tops.

There was a knock at the front door. “Oh! Miss Bevin, hello!” the servant squeaked as the redhead strolled in. He blushed and snuck out as she greeted him by name.

“Look who's decided to join the living once again! Thought I saw movement in here,” Bevin grinned. It looked like she'd been given new clothes as well. She wore an ankle-length heavy, warm looking light blue dress that was trimmed with light fur. “You should have fresh clothes and food. Do you need anything else? Makeup, hygiene products? Hair ties?” she asked. She put her staff down against a desk and began gathering her long hair, twisting it up to sit in a knot of curls on top of her head.

“I guess? Yeah, sure,” Nichole wasn't sure what all she needed or would be provided. Seconds later, the servant boy was scrambling in with a small basket. He handed it to her with a bow before leaving.

“I've only got a few moments before I have to go off to dodge fireballs, but if you need anything else, you can probably just snag someone outside and ask,” she gestured out the door.

“You're training with the Mage?” his name was currently escaping her, though his face came readily enough.

The redhead gave a grunt and rolled her eyes, “Yeah, lots of meditation and trying to _not_ be set on fire. Bastard's lit up my hair twice now.” She paused while she gathered her staff up. “They'll probably get you started on stuff, too. You should meet with Cassandra in the Chantry – that is, the big church place. Just walk straight through to the big door. Someone will be there.” She waved over her shoulder as she left, “I'll be out a ways in the fields if you need me. Ta-ta!”

Nichole flopped back onto the bed. She didn't know what to expect once she left the hut and that made her nervous. But she couldn't stay cooped up here forever, so she sat up and reached for the pile of clothes left for her.

There was a thick, dark green tunic styled top and tan leggings made of the same material. Along with her own bra and panties were what she assumed to be the local's equivalents. She'd have to see if they'd be up for making more like her own as she didn't think she'd be quite as comfortable binding her breasts with the long strip of fabric given. She threw the clothes on and tied her hair up with one of the provided ribbons. She'd have to ask Bevin what she'd figured out for general hygiene stuff because she couldn't make heads or tails of anything else in the basket she'd been given.

The food provided was made up of a few thick slices of cheeses, a bread roll, some bits of an unknown meat, and a really foul smelling drink. It didn't take her long to shove everything down, save for the gross mystery fluid, and she wondered if she could get more. Being out for so long had her famished.

Stepping outside proved to be a more awkward experience than she could have ever imagined. She last remembered these people yelling sneers and insults and death wishes at her, but now they were bowing and whispering in awe and calling her the 'Herald of Andraste.' Whatever an Andraste was.

Nichole looked around for this big church place Bevin had said to go to. There was only one building it could be, so she made her way there, taking her time to really take in everything.

“Well, look who's up!” Varric was the second familiar face to greet her since waking. “The 'Herald of Andraste' they're calling you now. You're quite the hero.”

“Yeah, I've heard,” she said, rubbing at the back of her neck uncomfortably. He was probably as good as any to ask, “What's an 'Andraste'?”

“A religious figure,” he answered briefly. “For those who believe in the Maker, she is the Prophet of the Maker.”

“And now her followers see me as her Herald,” she sighed.

“You should hear what they're calling Bevin,” Varric said with a laugh. “'The Prophet of Andraste.' Asked me all the same stuff and goes, “So they're calling me the prophet _of_ a prophet?” And then ranted on about becoming a religious icon of a religion she doesn't even follow.”

“I can empathize. I've always considered myself Christian, so this all feels weird,” Nichole admitted.

“Yeah, she's trying to get just “The Oracle” to catch on. Something about how it has fewer religious undertones,” he said thoughtfully. He then whipped out a notebook. “So how do you spell your name?” he asked. When he noticed the suspicion in her look he said, “I'm a storyteller; I write books! And I can smell a good one when I see it.”

Nichole decided to recite the spelling for him thinking it couldn't really be that bad.

“Any surnames? How do you spell your place of origin?” he questioned further.

“Sinclair. S-I-N-C-L-A-I-R. Of Texas. T-E-X-A-S.” She watched him scribble the words down. “What kinds of books do you write?"

“A little adventure, a little romance. You may see them around,” he answered, though it seemed a little dodgy. “Any idea how to spell Bevin's name? Is it like 'Raven' with a 'B'? B-A-V-E-N?”

“Not a clue,” she shrugged. “But she did say she was from Michigan, which is spelled M-I-C-H-I-G-A-N.” If this lead anywhere unwanted, she'd at least make sure she wasn't the only one going down.

“Yeah, Chuckles caught her before I could get anything out of her, so now she's refusing to answer any of my questions,” he winked with a grin. “They're probably antsy to see you up at the Chantry since you're up and news travels fast around here, so I'll leave you to that.”

He left her, and Nichole finished her walk to her destination marveling at the building. Candles and torches lit up the inside, soft light flickering across the stone of the building.

There was yelling going on in the room at the end of the hall. The door was ajar, so she knocked lightly while pushing it open further.

Red in the face, the same clergyman from days ago – a Rodric? - paused only momentarily at the sight of her before continuing on, “And they yet wander about unsupervised and unchained! They should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately for trial!”

Cassandra crossed her arms, “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.”

Nichole felt a light hand at her elbow and turned to see Bevin sliding into the room next to her.

“The Breach is also not the only threat we face,” the Seeker continued.

Leliana came forward, “That's right. Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others or have allies that yet live.” She narrowed he eyes on the Chancellor.

The man looked outright offended at what she was implying, “You cannot believe that _I_ am a suspect!”

Leliana confirmed, “You and many others.”

“Me, and not the prisoners?” he was still in a state of angry disbelief.

Cassandra shook her head in disbelief that he was still refusing to see it, “I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called out to them for help.”

“And what, their survival, that Mark on her hand, the visions…are all coincidence?” he spat.

Cassandra's answer was quick, showing her belief in her words and tone, “Providence. The Maker sent them to us in our darkest hour.”

“The Breach remains and your Mark is still our only hope of closing it,” Leliana addressed Nichole.

The Chancellor threw his arms up, “That is not for you to decide!”

Bracing a heavy book on the table, Cassandra turned to the man once again, “You know what this is, Chancellor. A Writ from the Divine granting us the authority to act.” She stepped back, head held high, “As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn!” She shoved a finger at the Chancellor's chest, “We will close the Breach, we will find who is responsible for all of this, and we will restore order – with or without _your_ approval.”

The man pulled a face and stomped out of the room, shoving aside Nichole and Bevin. Leliana threw her arms up in exasperation.

Leaning over the book upon the table, Leliana spoke, “This is the Divine's Directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand above the chaos.” She stood back and shook her head, “But we aren't ready. We have no leader. No numbers. And now, no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice. We must act now. With you both at our side.” She addressed Nichole and Bevin, “Will you stand with us? Help us fix this, before it's too late.” She held out her hand to shake on it.

Nichole shared a look with Bevin. She wasn't sure about any of this, but the girl seemed confident in them and smiled encouragingly.

Nichole embraced Cassandra's hand with a smile of her own, then watched as Bevin did so with a bit more enthusiasm.

“We have much work to do, then, in preparation,” said the Seeker. “I will gather Josephine and Commander Cullen.” With that, she briskly left the room in search of them.

Now that everything seemed settled for the moment, the tension seemed to leave the room.

Leliana gave Bevin a peculiar look, “Why are you wet?”

Now that Nichole was paying more attention to her, she noticed that the redhead's hair was dripping from the loose curls slipping from the knot on top of her head and her dress was soaking the floor beneath her.

Bevin grinned, “I got him.” Her face soured, “Then he said I was being 'too cocky' and suddenly there was a waterfall. Right over my head. It was frigid. Were your messenger a few seconds earlier, this could have been prevented. Maybe.”

“Sounds like you two are getting along,” Nichole said, a little envious. So far, she hadn't done anything but sleep and run around throwing her hand at rifts under the threat of death.

She rolled her eyes, “They were convinced he'd be too soft on me. You know what an excellent motivator is? Fire. Don't get a barrier erected fast enough? Sloppy work? Get set on fire. As I'm sure you know, fire _hurts_.”

“Good to hear your training is off to a good start, then,” Leliana smiled lightly.

The next few hours were a whirl as people came and went, plans were made, letters were penned and flown out by Ravens, and decrees were nailed to walls and doors of all major areas. People were all abuzz in speculation. A small gathering looked on in awe as the formal banner of the Inquisition was released to hang over the main entrance to the Chantry, signaling that this had become its headquarters.

 


	3. Doing The Things That I Saw I Would Do Before I Had Done Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas gets touchy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Bevin's going to have the “main” POV from here on out, with parts from Nichole, Solas, and maybe others. Otherwise I get pulled into just rewriting whole scenes from their views and, while that has its place, it can get a little repetitive and I don't want massive chapters (I'm aiming for 2-4k words/chapter, ha). So, we're going to end up with a bit of a removed perspective from the normal one of the Herald/Inquisitor, though Bevin's going to be heavily involved in all that. Being away from the direct spotlight will give her some freedom to explore other things.
> 
> I had originally meant to try to stay away from too much angst, but as I write and outline, it's kind of getting away from me and Solas is so damn broody and coming out a bit darker and quite a bit more manipulative than intended.
> 
> Universe-wise, classes and magic are going to be a bit muddied and not strictly adhere to game mechanics, etc, so there's some freestyling. xx

* * *

This morning, Solas had allowed her to sleep in. Bevin had woken up alarmed to see the sun shining through the windows. Typically, he had her up for meditation and training out in the fields at the ass crack of dawn, something Bevin heavily protested. For a man who loved his sleep, he sure was an early riser. Today, however, he'd given her a stack of books to get started on while he would be away taking care of some business.

Being able to sleep in and savor her breakfast for once this week was quite the treat. She'd thumbed through the two thick books, one on Mage history and the other on schools of magic theory. These would be in addition to the several large books that she'd been given by the advisers. It had largely been determined that she and Nichole would undergo a crash course of lessons before moving them further into Inquisition business.

She'd have to ask for another blank book for notes, wanting to keep everything separate and organized. More ink was also probably needed.

It had been just over a week since the start of all this and Bevin was beginning to fall into a kind of routine. Mage training with Solas in the morning; going over history, cultures, races, and everything “Thedas” with Josephine in the afternoon; and either learning strategy with Commander Cullen, though occasionally Leliana, or sparing with Cassandra in the early evening. Her nights were spent pouring over the books given to her and writing notes upon notes. As far as she knew, Nichole's schedule was similar to hers, minus the Mage training. Bevin frequently passed her in the training yard with Cassandra. Their afternoons were shared at the Chantry with Josephine.

Their first afternoon together at the Chantry was actually spent learning how to use and write with a quill and ink. This had utterly baffled Josephine, leading to an in depth explanation of how a modern day pen worked, but she had deemed it an exceedingly important skill to learn, so there they sat copying lines of text onto parchment until everything was up to her (high) standards – well beyond the point at which their hands began to cramp up. The food was always best when brought here, so Bevin found herself looking forward to her afternoon meetings.

She and Nichole had found it easiest to learn by drawing parallels and relating things back to their own culture. Josephine encouraged this and had found their discussions of home to be quite interesting, frequently asking questions about celebrities and entertainment and anything else that came up. Bevin noticed this seemed to also work to settle the adviser's worries a bit as they were not completely learning everything from scratch as they had feared.

In person, Commander Cullen, though he insisted that she and Nichole simply call him “Cullen” since they weren't soldiers, was a much more soft-spoken man than she had expected. The soldiers around them were often boisterous and easily distracted, but he could rein them in quite easily. He had an air of control and it was quite clear that he was well respected here. Despite that, Bevin found quite a bit of fun in flustering the man. Watching him stutter as his cheeks reddened. It was wonderful having someone around who, for once, could turn more shades of red faster than herself.

The first such instance had happened after Bevin had one of her first visions since the initial one that had garnered her the ridiculous title of “Prophet.” She'd come to looking up at him from the floor. He'd clearly been warned of this, but was not prepared to actually witness it alone. He didn't know what to do, and offered her all sorts of things while trying to signal a guard over to go grab Josephine. He'd insisted on carrying her over to one of the plush chairs. She'd made a simple comment about his mantle being soft. He nearly dropped her. Poor guy had a terrible low threshold for flattery. She wouldn't take advantage of that, too much.

Since the first one the day they'd stopped the Breach from growing, Bevin had had more visions. Quite a bit more publicly than she would have liked, with the glowing face and passing out and whatnot, but they added to her image and got people talking. What very, very few knew, however, was that the vast majority were actually _quite_ mundane. She knew what the cooks would be putting together for supper tonight, for example. She'd watched nugs and fennics future-prance and play in the fields, which was so beyond adorable, but seemingly kind of pointless.

Any time these visions happened, however, they were treated as important and to be written down in as much detail as possible. The general public just seemed to always assume they were far more dire than the actual reality of them.

The one thing that Bevin could find that connected these visions was that she was always there and _would_ be there at some point in the future, unless she actively worked to prevent a future event from happening. She'd seen herself sipping on the broth of the soup and nibbling on the bread roll. She will stop to watch the critters play right outside the front gate. She would have born witness to the collapse of a logging stand and the resulting injuries to those standing nearby – the stand was promptly inspected and reinforced, so this would not come to pass. She wondered what would happen if she went out of her way to avoid a vision – just, not be there when she was supposed to be. It was still difficult to pinpoint the time line of some of these events, however. She would look for clothes and hairstyles and listen for conversation, even take careful note of how much snow was on the ground and how footpaths formed. Nichole's words often came back to her: if she saw these catastrophic events happen, that meant she was supposed to change or prevent them, right? Or, at least, was given the opportunity to do so.

They were all things that went on around _her_ specifically that would happen in the nearish future. So far. Bevin didn't want to discount anything or start relying too heavily on this fact. It was also something she would keep to herself for now. She found herself trusting everyone a bit too freely, so this would be her secret for now, though it wouldn't be terribly difficult for any of the “inner circle” to pick up on if they looked.

Her sense of déjà-vu was ridiculous. Doing things she'd seen herself do already but hadn't actually finished doing yet. Sometimes it made her feel queasy, the little voice yelling from the back of her mind that she'd already done these things and this was _wrong_.

Bevin was making her way to the practice fields to meet with Cassandra. They generally went over non-magical offense and defense, and strength and endurance training. Cassandra had been appalled at the original fitness states of her new charges. Neither she nor Nichole had been slouches exactly, but they weren't up to the fitness standards of being active in this world and everyone was adamant that they be able to properly defend themselves. Running several random circuits around Haven was also not uncommon.

For now, Bevin used her practice staff – for Solas had deemed it little better than a child's toy – and the short pair of daggers strapped to her calves over her knee-high boots.

“So, I hear you had a break from your Mage training this morning. I suppose that means we'll be able to work extra hard today,” Cassandra said as she tore her sword from one of the training dummies.

“You realize that's totally going to be his excuse for beating my ass tomorrow morning, too, yeah?” Bevin was less than thrilled by Cassandra's tone.

The Seeker sounded far too happy, “Tonight, we work further on your bladed defenses. Draw your blades and prepare yourself.”

By the beginning of sundown, Bevin was the sorest she'd yet been. And then Cassandra had told her to crawl her way over to the armory to get measured and give preferences for her first set of light armor.

She'd hopped up on a rock to sit for a breather and she noticed the nugs and fennics chasing each other around a little ways off. She shook her head in recognition of the scene and leaned back on her arms.

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, Bevin shifted her attention. She gave a wave in recognition of the elven apostate returning from wherever he'd been gone all day.

Bevin expected him to keep walking on his way back inside the stronghold, but he strolled up next to her and looked off at what she'd been watching. “This is what you Saw yesterday,” he stated mildly, though Bevin knew he was processing this, minor though it was, carefully and thoroughly. She'd quickly learned that he was never one to half-ass anything.

“Mhmm.” She almost felt like saying no and making up some bogus detail or two, just to see how he'd react, but she was sure he'd see right through that and was less curious to see how he'd react to catching her lying to him.

Her stomach took that moment to remind her that she had yet to eat any supper. Her face reddened and she heard the elf chuckle lowly.

“Perhaps you should eat,” Solas suggested.

“Oh, I'd love to, but I need to stop by the armory first.” She slid from her perch on the rock and stretched her arms above her head, hissing at the pull in her sides.

Brow knitting in concern, Solas asked, “Are you injured?”

Bevin shook her head, “I'm good. Just gonna have some lovely bruising come morning.”

“My healing abilities leave quite a bit to be desired, however, I should be able to take care of that, should you like,” he offered, stepping closer.

Bevin smiled nervously and stepped away from him, “No, thank-you. The bruises might get healed, but I'd likely break a rib in the ensuing fit.” He'd been conscious of this odd tidbit in all of their past interactions, so she found it odd that it would slip his mind now. Being hit by his magic in the form of fire or ice and the like didn't make her sneezey, though her face would tingle a bit, but any _direct_ application of his magic on her person resulted in her doubled over sneezing.

He was giving her that look like she was some kind of puzzle that he itched to solve, “What does it feel like when this happens?”

Bevin began making her way towards the armory, figuring he'd follow along to ask his questions. She thought over this one for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain it. “The marks get warm and kind of start tingling. That's what builds up and makes my nose itchy and I sneeze. When the magic's gone, it stops.”

“I have some theories that I would like to try, if you will let me,” he offered.

She 'hm'-ed, “We can do that once I have food. The soup tasted delicious when I Saw it!” It would be so nice to be rid of this weird reaction to his mana, but her stomach was screaming for sustenance and she was already close to saying “fuck it,” and running off to get food _now_ , leaving the armor fitting for tomorrow.

“You can _taste_ things in your visions?” Solas asked, a good laugh escaping him.

“Yeah, I'm essentially _there_. Sight, hearing, feeling, smells, taste – all of it,” she explained. “Tasting things in the future is probably not a super power I would have thought to have chosen.”

“And you had a vision of…just soup?” This was the strongest she'd ever heard him laugh before and it got her laughing right along with him.

Noticing them entering the armory, the blacksmith, Harritt, waved them on in, greeting Bevin formally.

Harritt went back to his work station and began pulling out pieces of leather, “Now, I didn't have your exact measurements, but I noticed that you're about the same size as my apprentice here.” He nodded at a young boy concentrating on his own work.

“Implying that I'm the size and silhouette of a twelve year-old boy,” Bevin replied dryly.

He stammered and flushed, thinking he'd slighted her, “No, well, there's quite a bit… _more_ to you.”

“Damn straight.” She may not have grown into herself until bloody _college_ , but she was quite proud of her figure and didn't need armor strangling her boobs or any other parts of her because someone didn't account for the curves of a woman.

The blacksmith was speechless for a few moments before clearing his throat, “If you'll please remove your mantle, I can start fitting this first piece over your robes.”

It was chilly out, so Bevin was reluctant to remove the one thing keeping her arms warm, but complied with his request, moving to stand closer to one of the fires. Goosebumps still sprung up along her bare arms and a chill went down her spine as she rubbed along her hands and arms to encourage the skin to warm.

This was a chest piece. Harritt scored parts of the unshaped leather, leaning back frequently to scribble on a piece of parchment on the work table beside them. He bid Solas assist with a matching back piece while the blacksmith marked out more areas and continued his notations.

Outwardly, Bevin was cool as a cucumber. Inwardly, she was loving the feel of the hands at her waist. She bemoaned the fact that she hadn't been with anyone in quite some time – she just hadn't had the time as she wrapped up her final year at university, worked on her honor's thesis, and applied for graduate studies. Her mind was trying to figure out the logistics of finding one of the soldiers or scouts to screw around with. The primary issue now being that there was simply not enough hours in a day for her to really fit in any other _extracurricular_ activities. And figuring out a way to sneak off. She highly doubted her roommate would approve of her bringing her playthings back home or being kicked out for that reason.

By the end, Bevin had been fitted for the torso armor, a light shoulder and collar piece for her right arm that would go over her mantle, an arm piece for the same arm, and new greaves. Harritt also took measurements for any future needs.

She all but ran to the large hut where food preparations were typically done. She was subsequently told that there wasn't much left, being rather late in the evening by now, but Bevin insisted that she was fine with a good helping of the soup and a roll or two, lest they try cooking up anything just for her. She then stated she'd take some to her mentor, knowing full well he wouldn't eat much, if any, of it.

Solas was leaning against the entrance of their nearby hut as she exited, balancing the tray carefully to prevent spilling. Once back in her new living quarters, she set the tray on a desk and pulled out the chair.

She'd just settled in and was blowing lightly across her first spoonful when she watched as Solas reached over her and took the other bowl, not bothered in the least by the heat coming off the metal.

When she made to protest, he asked, “Was this not for me?”

“Well, yeah, but you never eat!” In truth, she had very rarely seen him eat or even drink anything in the time that she had been here.

He smirked, “How could I not when it has received such a _glowing_ endorsement?” He sat on the edge of his neatly made bed.

She flushed, turning away, and jammed the spoon in her mouth to keep from replying with something stupid. They continued to eat in silence.

Finished with her meal, Bevin stretched her arms over he head. She wondered if she could muster the energy to make it to the baths tonight. With a yawn, she gave up on that idea, though it made her feel gross, and unclasped her mantle from around her arms. She threw it over the back of the chair and fell back on her bed, legs dangling over the edge.

“Oh yeah, you wanted to talk theory stuff,” she mumbled, forcing herself to sit back up on her elbows.

An eyebrow rose and he pulled the desk chair over in front of her to sit closer. “Theory 'stuff,' yes. If you are feeling well enough, then?”

“Well, if we don't go over it now, something will come up in the morning and it'll never get done.” For that was her luck and this had potential to be important. Or to at least remove one annoyance from her life. “So have at it,” she said around her hand covering another yawn.

“Is there anything else that elicits your...reaction?” Solas dove right in.

“Not that I know of.” She thought a moment, but knew that nothing even came close. “So far, it's only been you, but it's not like I get much other close contact with Mages here, so it _could_ be mana in general.”

He nodded – an expected answer. “May I see your hands?” An odd request that earned a raised brow from Bevin, but she complied, sitting up fully to do so. She tried not to flinch away – his touch was always cold. He held each hand loosely in his own. “Close your eyes,” he bid.

“You gonna explain what you're doing?” she pursed her lips but followed his instruction.

“I want you to tell me when you begin getting that feeling.” He ignored her question, continuing on with his experiment.

She chewed her lip and furrowed her brow, this was weird to explain. It was like having constant, oddly specific facial areas of that pins and needles feeling. “As a default, I can always kind of feel it, the prickling, tingling. Not enough to cause a reaction, but it's _there._ Sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker. Why do I have to close my eyes?”

He made that “hn” sound at the back of his throat. The tingling across her cheeks suddenly increased significantly and Bevin wriggled her nose trying to banish the unpleasant feeling. She peeked and found that his hands were now glowing a very faint blue under her own.

“Your sight is one less variable. I am going to slowly increase the amount of magic in my hands. I would like you to squeeze as that feeling increases. And keep your eyes closed, please.” Well, in that case, this was starting at a good squeeze and it was already a task to not pull her hands away to make it stop.

“You might wanna start lower in that case,” she said, feeling like she was failing whatever this was already.

The feel of his mana pulled back and, with it, most of the prickling across her face. It took her a few long seconds to remember to loosen her grip on his hands. Bevin took a deep breath to help settle back down.

Solas began again, and Bevin tried to shift herself into a more meditative state to ignore the side effects of the reaction. As much as she tried to prevent it, screwing up her face and clenching her teeth, it wasn't long before she was jerking back and rubbing furiously at her face.

He still sat slightly forward, though his head was now cocked to the side in thought, eyes unfocused somewhere on the floor to the left. He then sat up straight with a nod to himself.

“You seem like you've reached some kind of conclusion,” she stated, watching the Mage warily.

“In part. Watch carefully,” he reached forward and took hold of her right hand once more, his fingers tinged blue with magic.

Bevin wasn't sure what she was watching for and tried looking from all different angles, squinting at the light emitted from the magic. He was patient, and it took her a few minutes to catch what she thought he was referring to. It was a faint effect, but his mana was not steady, appearing to be drawn to her in minute wisps where they touched.

He must have caught her eyes widening as she caught it for he increased the output of his mana. This, in turn, increased how much she seemed to be drawing off of him (and how much she wanted to rub at her face in agitation). Bevin looked up at him in question.

He sat back, releasing her hand, and she watched as he cast a barrier around them – she hadn't realized they could be made to be soundproof, hm. “You are syphoning, though very passively,” he explained lowly, conveying further that this _was_ a serious matter. “That is, you are taking in part of the excess mana that I release. It is a very old, rarely practiced form of magic, largely considered by many to be Blood magic. Though it is not, some of the mechanics _are_ similar. You have that adverse reaction upon taking in more mana than you can currently store or utilize – therefore, it needs to be released somehow. You are feeling that release of mana.”

“And I just have stupendously low storing abilities. Great,” she huffed.

He shrugged, “For the present. Given what I have seen of your nature thus far, it is probable that it will adapt as your ability to utilize magic grows. I will share what little I currently know of the art, but it is imperative that you keep the entirety of this revelation strictly between us.”

It wasn't something she likely would have gone on blabbing about, but the need for secrecy began to worry her. “Why is this a big secret?” Bevin asked. She hadn't yet come across anything in her studies that would affirm this, so she would have to defer to the elf for now.

He spoke carefully, “As you know by now, there is a great deal of…tension surrounding magic and its use in this land, though particularly towards that which is considered to be dark magic and Blood magic. Syphoning was, and is, only rare because of its difficulty to master and the little information passed on or shared of it. Utilized properly it can be a very powerful and deadly tool. It should _not_ be something that you are capable of doing now, especially in such a passive state. I cannot say that your bestowed holy title and status will protect you against those who may see it only as a dark art.”

Bevin rolled her eyes, “Right, yeah, I'm fairly well acquainted with religious flippancy and the fear and hatred towards that which doesn't align with their dogma.”

An unidentifiable look passed over him very briefly, but he continued on, “As it is such a rare form of magic, there are very few who will be able to see it for what it is, but you should remain wary around Mages and others.”

“Of course. Mages, Templars, people in general. Right now I don't have much choice _but_ to place an amount of trust in certain people, but that doesn't mean that I'm stupid or blind about it.” As close as they were becoming through the circumstances, this was actually _especially_ true of the apostate sitting before her. Of everyone here, _he_ was the unknown – a stranger that came wandering in with an unknown past to supposedly study the giant green rip in the sky. The others trusted him because they felt they needed to and he played mild and unthreatening very well (neither of which she found appropriate to attribute to someone who put her through what he did in their training). And now it was in her best interest to keep him close, if only because he now had something to lord over her, should he choose to do so. But he was also the only one who could really help her tease everything out by way of that same knowledge, so it was very double-edged. Knowing what she did now, as long as she was _here_ and involved with the Inquisition, she likely wouldn't be able to trust another with this information even if she wanted to. Though if she left the Inquisition now, she would not have their protection and she was technically now an apostate herself. She wasn't strong or knowledgeable enough to avoid the Templars, or really anyone else.

She rubbed her temples and tried to fill the lull they had come to, “Okay, so, present – what does this mean for me right now?”

He thought for a moment before answering, “Avoid lyrium. Mages typically drink it to recover their mana stores, but I cannot say how it will effect you since you are in a state of constant mana intake. We shall also find a way to increase the amount of mana you can currently hold. We cannot have you sneezing anytime a Mage touches you.”

“Yeah, I suppose that would attract too much attention and raise too many questions,” she canted a smile.

She yawned again and Solas shook his head, “More discussion can wait until morning. Go to sleep.”

Bevin gave a grunt of approval. She was about to flop back down and pass out like that, but decided she should at least change out of her robes and boots and into the two-sizes-too-big, shapeless, beige clothing that made up her pajamas.

She didn't even bother trying to get under the covers, cuddling her pillow where she landed on the bed.

“So where'd you go all day?” she mumbled. Bevin could hear his soft reply, but didn't process it as she fell asleep.

That night she dreampt.


	4. This Shade of Green is Beginning to Alarm Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting fire to the past, Solas is so a cat person, and someone needs to pay more attention in class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos and subscriptions and everything else! Translations can be found at the end note. I'll try to add relevant, but non-spoiling chapter warnings here at the beginning of chapters (ex: NSFW, etc - I'm not going to do individual tags for things like specific sex acts). I'm new to writing on AO3, so I have no idea what the line really is between M and E ratings, but with as detailed as I tend to write, this will probably get bumped to E sometime in the nearish future. I'm sure you'll all love to hear that I have the beginnings of some steaminess already written...for 3-5 chapters out. 
> 
> If anything ever seems particularly choppy or like formatting really screwed up, please let me know. Sometimes whole paragraphs don't copy over right. And I always have formatting issues here with spacing and all that. And because of how I write, sometimes I forget to bridge things since I tend to do scenes as they come to me and they can end up a little scattered. 
> 
> Happy reading! Xx
> 
> Chapter warning: discussion of past abuse.

* * *

Bevin rarely dreamed and preferred it that way.

Her mind had a tendency to vividly revisit dark places that she would rather just forget all together. She'd worked hard to distance herself from her past. Even the few happy memories she had of her childhood were tainted.

She recognized the glade she stood in. Her childhood home was up the hill in the distance. She often came down here to play with friends. A younger version of herself ran by with three others. They were throwing a frisbree around and calling out jokes and teasing one another. She had grass and dirt stains and the beginnings of a tear on her jeans from tripping at some point.

Mother never cared what she did, but her father… This was the day she learned that she wasn't supposed to have _any_ kind of interaction or contact with boys, lest she trip and fall on their penises or something. While her parents and church went on about the importance of a woman remaining chaste until marriage, she'd never known the lengths they'd go to enforce that.

“I was wondering when I would finally find you here.”

She didn't have to turn to know who it was. Bevin briefly wondered why he was in her dream, this one of all things, when it dawned on her, “We're in the Fade.” She'd lost count of the number of times he'd talked of it.

“That we are.” Solas came up next to her as his eyes curiously perused the scene, “Is this where you grew up?”

She didn't answer him. “How do I stop it?” she hissed.

He seemed confused, though to anyone else, this _would_ look like a pleasant memory…so far. It wouldn't stay that way for much longer. Solas did pick up on her distress, however, putting a hand on her arm and leading her away.

Bevin noticed the scenery abruptly begin to shift and remold itself. Trees formed around them and they were now walking along a well worn forest path.

She abruptly paused in her steps when she heard the crunching of leaves and the breaking of branches about them. Bevin looked about for the source of the noises, now on edge. She turned fully and caught sight of a man.

Her breath stopped and she would later swear that her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach as a rock. She'd never expected to see this man again after all she went through to prevent it.

Solas remained relaxed by her side. “As good of a time as any for this lesson. These are fearlings. As the name implies, they feed off fear. Strongly projected emotions can attract demons and spirits within the Fade.”

“And I get rid of them, how?” she kept her eyes on the man approaching. As he got closer, she could see that his eyes weren't quite right. Parts of him weren't right. The eyes bled black, the jaw that didn't quite seem attached one one side, the fingers that were just the slightest too long, the uneven gait. She wanted to back away but her legs wouldn't cooperate.

Bevin's vision had tunneled on this demonic version of her father, but she now saw the other figures coming in around him. Deformed in similar manners, the others made up the faces of the elders and sisters that frequently haunted her.

“Summon your staff and do as you would against any other demon in the waking world.” She managed to spare a glance his way and noticed that he now held his own staff, though remained in a loose, unhurried posture.

“Well, how do I do that? ' _Accio_ staff'?” She really hoped that would work, but of course it didn't – that would be far too easy.

The pop culture references had ceased to surprise him, so he just rolled with them now. Probably while silently judging her. “Create it. Will it into existence. The Fade will bend to its form.”

“I'm sure that's super easy,” Bevin sighed.

“Try not to over think it,” the elf advised. “You can defeat them.”

His words were encouraging, but his countenance did more to settle her fears. He wasn't worried, and she didn't doubt that he would step in if she needed help.

Bevin concentrated on recalling the feel of her staff, the smooth wood and knobs, how her mana flowed through it in a cool, soothing current. She blinked and was flexing her fingers around her staff in the next moment.

She didn't have time to stare in amazement at the object she'd _pulled from thin air_ since the fearlings – she refused to acknowledge their acquired forms – were suddenly moving quite a bit faster towards her.

Her static fielded barrier hummed to life around her and she took aim at the nearest one. An electrical current connected with it and knocked it back, stumbling into another.

As long as they stayed this distance from her, this wouldn't be so bad. So she thought, until the one skinned as her father spoke, tone raising sharply as it began on a very familiar speech.

“You have sinned in the eyes of our Lord. Brought shame upon this house! What hav-” The others had begun on in familiar voices. Echoing their disappointment, their derision, their false praise.

She flambéed them. Sent a wall of fire over the creatures. Anything to get him, them, to _stop talking_. Once upon a time, those words from him would have sent her groveling. The words of the elders that would make her feel so small and hopeless, a failed being. But she had survived, moved on, and buried them with her past.

She wished she could have done this years ago in her past life. Just raze them all. Set to them the flames of Eternal Damnation that they so frequently threatened her with.But the past was the past, her father and several of those faces were rotting in prison, and this was the next best thing to sate her current feelings of bloodlust.

Before she could further lower her guard and relax via flopping on the ground, a loud roar bellowed down the path from the direction they had originally been walking.

Another demon was violently pulling itself up from the ground, flames dripping from its body and pooling around it like molten lava.

A second roar and it was charging forward at an alarming speed, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Bevin dove to the side to avoid its path. Upon gaining her footing, she aimed to fire a charge of electricity at it.

Bolts of ice whizzed over her head to hit the demon. As Bevin watched on, it quickly froze through solid, extinguishing the flames that had flowed and pooled off its body. Another blast and it shattered, its energy vanishing to be reabsorbed by the Fade.

She braced her hands on her knees and took in several deep breaths.

Solas was back at her side. “You are not quite at the level to fight a Rage demon alone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said as she looked back at the spot where the demon had been. “So, I thought fearlings were spiders. That's how I've always seen them before.”

He began leading her back down the path. “Seeing them as spiders is fairly common, but they will appear as a fear specific to the individual viewing them. In some cases, this is situation dependent. I do not see them as you see them.”

“So they're kind of like boggarts,” Bevin said, thinking of the creature that was brought up a few times in the Harry Potter books.

“I thought your world did not have demons. Is that a kind of creature in your world?” he asked her.

“N-well, sort of. It's literary, but a lot of those kinds of things are based on myths. Still not exactly real, but a lot of people would know what you're talking about. Especially if they're fans of the wizarding book series or movies.” Bevin glanced at him with a grin, “Can I shout ' _Ridiculous!_ ' at them and have them burst into flowers and tutus or something?”

He sighed, “I sometimes think that I am learning more of this Harry Potter world than of your own.”

“Is that a 'no'?”

“Try it next time and see for yourself.” There was a twitch of a smile at his lips. He was totally silently laughing at her.

“I will!” she stuck her tongue out at him. She was _so_ going to try that next time and then _she'd_ be the one laughing if it worked!

 

* * *

 

Solas watched as Bevin poked and prodded at the Fade around her, trying to mold it and form objects. They were in a forest clearing of his creation, a safe harbor that would remain painted in the fabric of the Fade even after they left. He lounged against a shade tree, his eyes cast towards the leaves swaying overhead in the created breeze as she dangled her feet in the shallow river that ran lazily through the area.

He could feel the demons collecting at the edge of the influence of his power keeping them at bay. Their curiosity and desires made them brave. Bevin was a very bright beacon here in the Fade. Solas had not thought that they would be _this_ much of an issue when bringing her further into the Fade from her dream. He would have to figure out something to do about that or they would overwhelm her anytime she entered the Fade. For the time being, he could keep her out of their reach. This would slow his Fade travels for research, however.

He was very curious about the form the fearlings had taken from her view, but didn't feel it a good time to potentially dredge up bad memories. He would wager that it was connected to the dream memory she had fled – they had shifted form according to her earlier words of them appearing as spiders in past battles. In all he had seen her go through so far, she had never once been petrified with fear. Though as much as it terrified her, she had responded equally with rage. He had slowed the fearlings' approach to give her time to prepare. They were a bit above her skill, but he had faith she'd do well. He had not expected her to dispel them in a pillar of flames fueled by her anger towards some part of their visage, in turn attracting a Rage demon.

He had spoken to her about the need to control her emotions while here. She had taken it in stride, as she often did.

With most of his attention on his charge, he had not given much thought to the Herald. She and Bevin got on quite well, bonded by their common link, so with keeping one close, the other would not be too far off. It would be in his best interest to make sure they stayed that way so that he could also monitor the Anchor closely as well.

The development behind Bevin's marks was baffling, and he both hated and loved it. A puzzle with so many facets. From one answer sprung many more questions, like the slain heads of a hydra. A completely novice Mage was passively syphoning mana from her environment. Was this connected to her visions? The marks reacted during her visions, so they had to be linked somehow. And then there was the question of how she acquired everything in the first place.

Syphoning was an art of which he knew very little. He would have to seek out more information about it. The best place to start would likely be where Blood magic and lost arts were still secretly practiced among high ranking Mages: Tevinter. While he could accelerate his travel there through the Fade, it would still be very time consuming and he was not at a point where he could leave Bevin or the Inquisition alone for the length of time that that would require. And, in the end, it would be hard to say whether or not the Fade alone would hold any answers.

Leaving the stronghold just to step into the Fade physically was also already tedious enough with the Nightingale's scouts steps behind him wherever he went, but "trips" were the only way to disguise his longer Fade travel needs. Going to Tevinter would be riskier than he could chance presently.

Bevin was speaking.

“ _Ir abelas_ ,” he apologized, “Would you repeat that?”

She rolled over onto her stomach to look at him, perching her head upon her crossed arms. Her nose scrunched up as her green eyes narrowed on him, “I should start doing that. Just randomly speaking in other languages around you. _J_ _'_ _peux le faire, aussi._ ”

It was not a language that he recognized. Nothing from her really surprised him anymore, but he could humor that game. Though now he couldn't do much more than wait for her to repeat whatever she had said previously.

She rolled her eyes with a huff, “I asked what you thought about the rest of the Inquisition.”

He'd have to be careful answering this sort of question. It was clear she was digging again. “I assume you mean its top ranking members? They are each very powerful in their own right. We have power, but lack influence and force. Those will likely come in time, however.

“Cassandra may well be beginning her own holy crusade. She is determined to seek out the truth behind all of the tragedy that has occurred here, but her actions and thoughts are so colored by her faith, that she is inclined to act first and ask questions later.

“The Nightingale Spymaster shows more restraint, though her scouts run and gather all information they can from the shadows. Her network's omnipresent eyes and ears make her quite dangerous.

“Commander Cullen has been tasked with making forces out of troops that consist of young farmhands and goatherds with little to no prior training outside of what they have learned to keep feral dogs at bay. He is a former Templar, so be wary of his skills and ingrained suspicions.

“Lady Montilyet is held in high esteem among the nobility. Her influence and connections in high places shall do the Inquisition a great service.

“And Master Tethras is the 'unwanted tagalong' sure to be noting everything for a future publishing.”

She was inspecting blades of grass between her fingers. “Hard to take Cullen seriously when he falls over himself anytime I have a vision around him and he follows Nikki around like some lost Labrador, with those big ol' eyes. Maybe Labradoodle with the hair. Only known him for a week, though. Cassandra's definitely Pitbull-esque.”

“Are these animals?” he asked, unsure if her really wanted to know the answer.

She hesitated and grinned widely, “Dog breeds. Miss Josie's got the whole Aussie Shepherd thing going on, herding everyone around and with the quick wit and all.”

He'd never had a stronger urge to roll his eyes. “And Sister Leliana?”

Her nose scrunched again, “She reminds me more of a cat. Maybe like a Shiba Inu, though. But she's kinda got the whole Cheshire thing going on, which scares me.” Being wary of the Nightingale was very wise, he was glad she picked up on that early.

But these words had no point of reference in his mind and she knew it.

Bevin looked like she was trying hard to keep a straight face and failing, “I had you pegged as a Sphynx for quite awhile since you struck me more as a cat person, too.” Implying she'd changed from her initial impression? Although he had the distinct feeling that this was meant as some kind of joke, going from her expression.

“I…cannot say that I know what these are.” He felt rather appalled that she was comparing him to a _cat_ , though figured this was her way of reading people and creating mnemonics. Though in this instance, she was sharing her thoughts in response to his answer to her original question, yet _not._ Answering without revealing much of what actually went through her mind.

He supposed his current persona did come off as… _cat-like_.

“Oh, I know, _mo c_ _úá_ _n_ ,” her grin widened, “See, I don't understand _half_ the words _you_ mumble and yell at me.” She flicked pieces of grass towards him, though they fell short within inches of herself. Ah, she was making good on her form of petty revenge.

Solas flicked an energy blast at her.

Bevin rolled to the side to dodge. With a scowl she sent her own blast back.

And that was how what was originally planned to be a peaceful sit in the Fade her first night here turned into another sparing session.

 

* * *

 

The following morning Solas had gifted her with a new staff – an 'actual staff,' as he called it. It was much more finely made than her knobbly practice staff, made of a blackest wood that shone in blues and violets under the sunlight, carved smooth save for a swirl of etchings, topped with a clear light blue orb held firmly within a crook. It was quite a bit heavier and stood a good foot higher than she was tall. He told her that she had a definitive Storm nature that would be better suited to a similarly aligned staff. The feel of her mana within this staff was similar, yet so different. It still felt cool and flowed easily to her touch, but it was now touched with a buzz charged by the staff that gave her quite a thrill.

Bevin could hardly wait to try it out, though wondered where the hell he'd hidden the thing. She felt like she had missed something since he clearly hadn't had it last night with him or at the hut, even though he insisted he'd returned with it after finding it while out on his day trip (which he said he'd told her last night, though that she looked to have fallen asleep as he'd been talking). His words made her doubt her own memory before she reminded herself that this was a land of magic and that maybe he had a Bag of Holding or magic pockets or something.

Oh, _there_ was an item she wanted something fierce. Something to shove all of her crap into without having to worry about its weight or bulkiness. Bevin wondered if that was an actual thing here. If not, she'd find a way to invent it. Although if that sort of thing did not exist, where the fuck did Solas keep shit? He did seem to be a man of very few means, however.

She'd been broken out of her thoughts by a fireball hurtling towards her. Solas' favorite means of gaining her wandering attention.

Upon returning fire, Bevin really felt the difference in the push and pull of energy in her staff. The electricity charging through the wood engulfed her energy blast with electric energy. Her magic had an extra 'oomph' now as she tested her other abilities, limited though they still were. Their spare and that days lessons left her feeling exhilarated, though spent.

Nichole snagged her after their routine sit down with Josephine and lead them to an empty room across the hall of the Chantry. “We haven't had much time to really talk privately about all this,” Nichole said while gesturing around them.

“Oh, uhm, lemme try something first.” Bevin remembered the soundproof barrier that Solas had cast around the two of them last night. She hadn't really ever tried casting her barrier around more than just herself, though. But how hard could it be?

Ignoring Nichole's questioning gaze, she began by pushing her barrier out, willing it to engulf both of them. One part down! Bevin had no idea how to go about the second part. “So, I'm going for soundproof barrier, but I've only seen Solas do it once,” she explained. “Though this isn't too far off, I don't think.” Her barriers still reminded her of a fishbowl – thick and glass-like and they had a tendency to muffle everything. She felt like she was unwittingly combining attributes of different kinds of barriers, and sucking at all of them. It would be something to look into more on her own.

“You know way more than I do. As long as it doesn't shock me...” Nichole trailed the statement off with a shrug. “But why did he need a soundproof barrier?”

“Just Mage-y lesson…stuff,” she deflected. Bevin's lips quirked unsatisfactorily, “Well, this might have to do for now. We just have to keep our voices down in case.”

“Great!” Nichole exclaimed while she flopped down into one of the desk chairs of the room.

Bevin shushed her and grabbed her own chair.

Nichole grinned at her and apologized. “So, as the two Earthlings, I definitely think we need to stick together here.”

Bevin nodded her agreement. “So, how have you really been holding up?” she asked. While they were both asked different versions of this same question constantly, it was really hard to answer for people who couldn't possibly understand what they'd gone through.

“It's not easy,” Nichole began softly. “I miss my family, my friends, even my coworkers. And flushing toilets and sinks. And nice, hot showers.”

Bevin could empathize on most of those, “Definitely not things that I'll take for granted again if I get back. I've been hoarding the battery charge on my phone just to make having access to it last a little longer.”

Nichole's eyes widened, “Dude, I didn't even think of yours! I have one of those solar charging thingies. It survived in my backpack from when I was hiking and pulled here. You can totally borrow it!”

Bevin's face lit up. This meant she'd have access to her music and books and stuff! “Thanks! I just had my wallet stuff with me. Wasn't expecting to be going anywhere but to the store.”

“I don't have much – just some food, a windbreaker, and a couple survival things. I don't think I'll really be needing campfire stuff with you Mages around,” the blonde winked at her. “So, what do you think of the people here? Can we trust them?” Nichole was more earnest with these questions.

Bevin chewed her lip. “They did say they aren't sure who started all of this, so I still think that's something to keep in mind. But so far, almost everyone's been pretty genuine.” She didn't want to color Nichole's view of the others this early with her personal assessments of them.

Nichole's face scrunched up, “Yeah, I get sketchier vibes from some of the citizens. Occasionally the soldiers, but those are more just leers and grossness, I think.”

Bevin shared the sentiment, “Ew, yeah, I know! I got shit all the time back home just for being a redhead. And now I get to hear more perviness here.”

“I talked to Cullen about it, so hopefully that will let up some,” Nichole sighed.

“ _Good_. You spend an awful lot of time with the Commander,” Bevin wiggled her eyebrows at Nichole who blushed and scoffed.

Nichole shot back, “Dude, you spend _way_ more time around the hobo!”

“Hobo?” Bevin asked incredulous. Though, actually, now that she thought about it, he was quite a bit more vagabond-esque than she'd really attributed to him before. Constant traveling here wouldn't really allow one to have many possessions, especially if they had no permanent home.

Nichole arched a brow and quirked her lips, “The wanderer, apo-whatever who doesn't wear shoes? Kinda dresses like one, too. I haven't talked to him much.” She sat back looking thoughtful.

“Well, he's my Mage instructor _and_ I live with him, so...” Bevin shrugged.

“Yeah, I thought that was weird. _I_ pretty much have my place to myself.” Nichole preened, clearly happy with _that_ outcome. “How's the anti-abomination training going?”

“Well, I fought off some minor demons last night in the Fade, so I'd say it's going pretty well so far.” Which she felt proud of, but Nichole didn't need to know about the Rage demon that was so clearly out of her league.

“Ooh, what's that like, the Fade?” the blonde asked wide-eyed

Bevin thought back to last night, “Mages can get there through dreaming, I guess. Sorta like lucid dreaming. It's very…green. And dark. You can kinda push it around and make stuff and look through memories the Fade shows you. It's kinda fun. Don't really know what I'm doing much, though, so I'm glad Solas is there.”

“Wait, Solas – he's the hobo right? – he's there, too?” Nichole seemed confused at first, then cracked up laughing. “So you even see him when you _sleep_?”

Bevin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I wasn't really thinking that I needed to see _more_ of the guy. But he's a Dreamer, so that's his _thing_ , I guess.”

Nichole tapped a finger on her chin, “Well, he's kind of good looking – certainly no Legolas – but if you're into the guy, that's all pretty convenient.”

Bevin blinked, almost thinking she'd misheard, “I never said-”

“Oh, but the student-teacher thing is so _hot!_ And I mean, if you're here, you might as well see what's it's like to have some fun with an elf,” Nichole's tone turned singsongy as she winked at her.

Bevin grit her teeth and hissed, “Nichole! I'm fairly certain that's probably considered racist here, and I have more important things to think about than who to screw and fulfill fantasies with!” Okay, that last part was a bare-faced lie. Bevin just hoped her face wasn't as red as she thought it was.

“Fair enough.” Nichole changed the subject, “So I think we're going somewhere next week! The others mentioned needing to find a Mother Giselle. I'm sure they'll fill us on the details soon.”

Bevin really hoped it was somewhere warmer than here. She was really getting sick of all this snow and hadn't even really been here all that long yet.

“Well, I'll look forward to getting out of here for a little while at least,” Bevin shared. “How have your readings been going?” She had a feeling she knew given how much she always had to fill her in on when working with Miss Josie.

Nichole sank down in her chair, “Ugh, I've never been much of a reader, so it's going super slow. Doesn't help that it's not exactly the most thrilling of material.”

“I can give you my notes to look over,” Bevin offered, knowing exactly where she was going to have the other woman start. It was in _everyone's_ best interests to _not_ have the Herald misspeaking and insulting people over something like basic race relations. “But really, be careful with race stuff here. It's not quite the same as back home, though is similar in some ways. Skin color doesn't seem to have the same connotations as it would for home, but there are some tensions between the various races of beings here.”

Nichole had the sense to look sheepish, “Ha, thanks. I'll try harder.” She stood from her chair and stretched her arms over her head. “We should probably get going. Cassandra's gonna be looking for me soon and you know it's never a good thing to keep _her_ waiting.”

Bevin dissolved her barrier and they walked out of the room. “Let me snag my notes for you on the way. I'm not sure who I'm hanging with yet tonight, so I'm not in much hurry.”

Bevin lead the tall blonde back to her nearby hut.

Solas greeted them politely from where he sat writing.

“God, you people – you can just call me 'Nikki!' 'Nichole' is the formal-est you're allowed to get,” Nichole huffed in response to Solas greeting her formally as “Herald.” She looked at Bevin, “How come they don't get all formal with you?”

“Some still do, but I've been nipping that since the beginning.” Bevin quickly located her bound book of study notes and tore off a strip from a spare piece of parchment to bookmark a section. “Now, see this,” she opened the book and gestured widely to the section in her notes. “This is where you're going to _start_. Where I've outlined all the race relations stuff we've gone over so far. I've marked it. But make sure you go over the rest, too.” She closed and rebound the book and handed it off to Nichole.

The blonde walked off after conveying her thanks. Bevin rubbed at her face. She wondered if she should grab something to eat before seeking out one of the advisers.

She'd been heading out when Nichole came running up to her and shoved something into her hands with a grin before running off back down the steps again. Bevin looked at the object in her hands. The solar charger. She totally knew what she'd be doing later tonight!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Ir abelas” - an apology, “I'm sorry.” ; Elvhen  
> “J'peux le faire, aussi.” - “I can do that, too.” ; French  
> “mo cúán” - “my puppy/little dog” ; Irish – she hasn't made any connections at this point, she just thinks it's funny
> 
> Probably not going to use a ton of Elvhen. I'm aware of the various docs for it, but there's not a lot out there and I don't feel like making it up. I'll get around it somehow, though.


	5. Hope Your Boots Are Sturdy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter places us at about three weeks in.
> 
> The next chapter will be more action-y and speed things along a bit, since I'm not gonna detail the vast majority of quests. Xx

* * *

Bevin had just come around from a vision. She'd tried to catch herself on her staff this time and failed, ending up face down on the ground with her staff digging into her front from where she'd landed on it.

She rolled over with a huff, rubbing her poor aching nose and forehead, and noticed a scout standing over her alongside Solas. The elf had decided that the best incentive to fixing the collapsing-on-the-ground issue of her visions was to just not catch her anymore and force her to work it out against the pain of gravity.

Though the scouts had yet to give her names, she was beginning to recognize faces. This one had witnessed enough episodes that he was no longer fazed by them.

He offered a hand to help her up, “Up you get, Prophet. You're wanted in the War Room.”

Bevin accepted and glared at him as she dusted herself off, “Baaay-viiin. It's 'Bevin.'” She'd insisted over half a dozen times now that he call her by her name. He'd just smile and walk away. She was fairly certain he was just doing it to irk her since the other regulars had sort of come around by now – she'd even take 'Miss Bevin' and 'm'lady's. Damnit, the cute ones were always such headaches.

“I'll head there in a few,” she mumbled as she dug out a folded piece of parchment and a writing tool from the small bag belted to her side. She waved and the scout took off back towards the gate at a jog.

“Ya know, I think I have such mundane visions because it's so dull around here,” she mumbled, mostly to herself, but she knew Solas would hear well enough. She hashed out the details of her vision under other such scrawlings. “I always worry I'm gonna forget to do something because I feel like I've already done it. Don't let me forget to pack tonight.”

She'd been filled in on what would be their first excursion out of Haven a little more than a week ago. They – Nichole, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and she – would be leaving in the morning for the three-to-five day journey to the Hinterlands to track down Mother Giselle, who had requested to speak with The Herald and Prophet. The Chantry was trying its hardest to denounce the Inquisition, though Nichole and her, specifically, as heretics. Going to the Hinterlands was an opportunity to increase the influence of the Inquisition and recruit sympathizers to the cause, as well as listen to what the cleric had to say.

The meeting she was being summoned to was likely to iron out the last details prior to leaving.

Personally, Bevin was grateful for this slight reprieve. Solas had been pushing her much harder as of late. She knew it was for good reason and he meant well, but it was hard not to complain of the exhaustion and mana drain. And, as if she didn't see him enough, this all continued after she fell asleep most nights. It would be nice to change up the routine.

Her guided studies with Josephine and Cullen had recently come to an end for now, at least, so she had more time during the day to train alone, continue in her own studies, and just relax. Her current pet project was working on her barriers and passive magic.

Bevin was still trying to remove the damn fish bowl effect from her primary barrier. Not having someone shooting at her or demanding her time during later parts of the day, allowed her to just sit and try to tease the magic apart. She was having some luck lessening the issue of muffled outside sounds, but it still wasn't all the way gone. The reverse had gotten much better, though, and she now had a functioning sound-proof barrier of her own. It wasn't currently an issue that said barrier was fully solid and not like the hazy, permeable glow of Solas'.

She was also making progress with her syphoning skills. Sort of. Though she had no direct control over it, she was becoming better at identifying individual mana signatures. Or rather, the _one_ that she was familiar with. Within a certain radius, it was becoming quite easy to track Solas' movements. Occasionally, she'd also get a reading from what appeared to be Nichole's Mark, but it wasn't stable enough to really be reliable.

Even as she made her way to the Chantry, she could sense Solas' unhurried movement toward their hut.

 

* * *

 

The group met at first light outside the main gate the following morning. This was a time that Bevin was mostly used to being up by at this point, thanks to her early training sessions, but Nichole and Varric looked like they much would have preferred setting out a bit later in the morning.

As there weren't enough mounts for the whole group, they would be going it by foot with a pack horse. The sky was cloudy as always, but the air seemed clear. Hopefully, they wouldn't have any problems with snow.

After making sure they had all they needed, the group set off with Cassandra leading the way. Bevin had pretty much packed all of what little she had into a small rucksack that was currently tied to the horse. Her phone was in the small bag slung around her waist. She'd been avoiding using it to keep her focus on her studies, but she wasn't about to haul her big, heavy books along with her for the weeks this would trip would take. The biggest treat was seeing Solas' reaction the first time she'd had it play music. Granted, she'd purposefully chosen to play what she thought would be the most jarring stuff she could find in her extensive music library.

She knew pop music probably wouldn't be in his tastes, so he had surprised her when he said he wanted to hear _more_ of it, even after she'd expressed that she had lighter stuff. What hadn't fazed her, was him deeming it “likely an acquired taste.” Then again, listening to Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, and Macklemore, among others, was probably a good way into exploring her culture. He often asked questions, but she occasionally liked to see how far she could stretch reality before he called bullshit. She snuck some Lonely Island and other absurdist songs in just to try to fuck with this idea of his that he would learn much of anything proper through her music.

Then he'd made a comment about how her “crude language made sense given the culture portrayed through her music.” Asking him to clarify got the deadpanned response of, “You just spent three minutes singing along to a…song that uses 'motherfucker' nearly every other line.” Hearing the expletive alone coming from him had made her night and she'd cracked up laughing.

She hadn't yet told him about the other functions of her phone, though figured he'd get nosy again as soon as she got bored enough on this trip to want to catch up on the digital library she'd accumulated over the past couple of years. Or went through her games to remember which ones could be played offline. It wasn't like she was staring and poking at blank screens.

The group had been given cloaks that would hold up against the wind and snow of the Frostbacks. With it layered on top of her already-thick Mage's robes and her new light armor, Bevin found herself to be quite cozy for now.  She noticed that the new armor Nichole had donned looked quite a bit heavier and more protective. It seemed styled after Cassandra's.

“A group of scouts is a day ahead of us,” the Seeker began as they walked, “So our path should be fairly clear until we get to the outpost around halfway to the camp we have at the Hinterlands. Be that as it may, stay alert for bandits.”

Their morning was uneventful and fairly quiet as they trekked along. The chattier members of the group were too tired for small talk and the others were content with listening only to the crunch of snow beneath their boots. Bevin managed to entertain herself for awhile by French braiding her long hair into a thick plait that hung low on her back.

They marched through the afternoon, with some of the group grabbing small rations out of the gear to serve as lunch. Bevin and Nichole were currently splitting a hunk of cheese and chewing at bits of jerkied meat.

Varric stepped forward to walk with them. “So what did you guys do before…you know? Before you came here.”

Nichole swallowed, “Lived near family. Did stuff with friends on the weekends. Just broke up with my boyfriend. Yadda yadda. And I'm, well, _was_ , I guess, a manager at a popular retail store.”

“Which one?” Bevin asked.

“Marcy's,” Nichole replied.

Bevin made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, “I LP'd for you guys for a summer. It was awful.”

“Loss Prevention? Dude, no-one sticks around in LP for very long. We're always getting crap about turnover prevention. But it's kinda hard to prevent people from constantly leaving when you treat them so badly and grudgingly pay minimum page. Didn't you say you were a student?”

Bevin nodded, “Yup. Criminology and Linguistics. Recent graduate. I was applying for Master's programs and interning at a coroner's office.”

Nichole's face scrunched up in question, “What's a coroner's office do?”

Bevin laughed, very used to this question. “We investigate things like suspicious deaths and homicides. In some places and in a lot of TV shows it's called the 'Office of Medical Examiner' instead, so maybe you've heard that. But I mostly just helped with paperwork and answered phones and crap. I got to ride along sometimes, so that was fun!”

Nichole turned fully to look at her excitedly, “Oh! I wanna story! That sounds cool.”

Bevin thought a moment. She hadn't been there all that long, so didn't have many eventful stories for telling. The main one she did have was certainly interesting, but was rather gruesome. Current company could probably stomach it. “Okay, I got one. So, we're often called preemptively when cops and the crime scene processing unit are still figuring out what the fuck is going on at a scene. So we're, my boss and I, called on this house where there was gunfire, we're told there's a dead body. Can't find the shooter. Everyone's in hysterics. Anyway, we get there a little ahead of the 'bus and the police chief is doing one of these,” she made a slow waving gesture with her hand at her hip while jerking her head at an imaginary object. “Like even _he_ isn't sure what he's seeing. We walk up and one of his boys, who, by all accounts, has a stomach of _iron_ and the world's _best_ poker face, is talking to this girl. I remember it took us a bit to figure out what was odd, and it hit us both as she turned just slightly in the light – this was night and their porch light was out or something, so there's just the streetlight. Dude, she was missing half of her fucking _head_.” Bevin brought her hand up to the back of her head and made an exploding gesture in emphasis. She laughed when she turned to look at Nichole, “Yes, _that_ is probably the same face I was making.”

She paused for a few moments to chew down some more dried meat before explaining the rest of her story. “So, it turns out that two siblings were home alone – an older teenage girl and her little brother. Boy finds a fuckin' loaded shot gun lying around somewhere, thinks it's either a toy or unloaded or some shit, and shoots his sister. Blows half her skull off. They thought she was dead when they got there, but she gets up and starts talking like nothing's fuckin' happened. The first cops on the scene _ran_ and called for back-up, honest to gods thinking she was some kind of zombie. Frankly, that's what she looked like, so I can't really judge them too harshly. But yeah, she's _standing_ there talking to the officer, has no idea what happened or why they're there, but can't find her brother, so she keeps asking for him. He's found soon enough – ran off after he saw what he'd done. But before we find him and figure out what all happened, the chief's like, 'I'm not sure yet if we'll need you guys or not.' – 'cause we're only really needed if there's a dead body. My boss instructs him to let everyone carry on as-is until the 'bus gets there, so that we don't alarm her and send her into shock when we don't have the supplies to properly handle her state. The 'bus eventually gets there and carts her off for the hospital. Girl lives something like another three or four days before she, unfortunately, passes.”

“Wow,” was all Nichole could say in response.

“So you're used to dead bodies, Sneezy?” Varric sounded a mix of skeptical and surprised.

“Ha, no! I hadn't been working there very long, and murder's kind of illegal where we're from, so it's not like we're swamped with investigative work in a small city. Usually we're just called in when people die at home alone from any number of natural causes or suicide, just as a precaution. Some suicides can get pretty gruesome, though. The scene of that shooting was probably the most alarming thing I've seen, actually. Just, this massive spray of blood and brains across their living room wall and couch,” Bevin whipped her arms out to either side with her words.

Cassandra had dropped back some with the pack horse to talk to the other women easier. “Wait, how was the girl attacked? You said 'gunfire' and a something about a 'shotgun.' What are these?” she asked.

“A shotgun is a kind of hand-held weapon,” Nichole made like she was holding an invisible gun and explained to the Seeker and the rest of the group listening in. “It's a kind of gun, which are made primarily out of metal and plastic. They fire projectiles called 'bullets' with lethal force. Anyone can really use the things.”

“The first ones would be similar in concept to Varric's crossbow, but with gun powder, so the tech probably isn't too far off here, not that I'd really be too excited for it,” Bevin grumbled the last part with a roll of her eyes.

“You have medical advancements that make it possible for someone to survive such a thing for so long?” Solas inquired.

Bevin and Nichole shared a shrug. Bevin answered the best she could, “We're centuries ahead of you, at the very least, I think, but I'm not sure even we could really pull off something like that. Not all gun wounds are _that_ severe – they're survivable and a decent doctor can patch you back together no problem, though enough _do_ kill on impact if they hit the right spots. In the case I just shared, though, I'd put that all on the girl and the ingenuity that is the human body. There's not a whole lot we can do at that point beyond giving someone pain killers, hoping _that_ doesn't react negatively with anything, and maybe attempting some kind of reconstructive surgery for the skull in the hopes that they survive. She was missing a good chunk of her _brain_ , after all. It's typically the trauma that eventually kills because the body just shuts down. If they live, it's against pretty astounding odds. Even then, I wouldn't exactly envy someone coming out of that – they likely won't be anywhere near the same as they were.”

The conversation lulled for a few minutes, everyone lost in their own thoughts, until Varric spoke up, “What does 'dude' mean? I've heard you two use it _constantly_.”

“I second this question,” the Seeker joined.

“Well, it's a, a...” Bevin began haltingly, belatedly realizing she didn't have a clear answer for this one. “Huh, sorry. It's slang and I totally just realized that I was going to answer that with more slang.”

“It's a kind of title you can call someone that you're cool with,” Nichole attempted to explain.

“Also a sentence filler and probably several other uses, but 'cool' _was_ the word I was trying to avoid using, Nikki,” Bevin poked the blonde's side good-naturedly.

“I've heard you use it enough, though. That one's easier to get in context,” Varric said. “I just wasn't sure if 'dude' had some special meaning.”

“Care to explain to the rest of us, then, Varric?” Cassandra asked, her tone spoke of a challenge.

“Hm,” Varric rubbed his chin with a gloved hand. “Bevin thinks that nugs are cool.”

“No, I think nugs are _cute_ because they're little and scampy. _Dragons_ are cool because they're big and fierce,” Bevin stuck her tongue out at the dwarf. “Your _crossbow_ is 'cool.' All the same, not _quite_ the right usage of 'cool.' That one means more that something is, like, a step below 'awesome.' Although it can also be said rather passively… In the case of 'being cool with someone,' it means more that, uh, you're friendly, you're alright with them, you're _tight_.” She knew she was explaining with slang still, but couldn't help but throw more in there.

“Ooh! Or, like, if you had an argument with someone and you're apologizing, you can be like, 'We cool, bro?' and then they can be all like, 'Yeah, we cool, man.'” Nichole affected voices for the parts. It was probably as decent as any example in this case. “And then you hug it out and shake hands,” at this she threw herself around Bevin and tried to get her to do a complicated handshake. “Dude, you fail at this,” she said after several tries and gave up.

 

* * *

 

The group began looking for a place to set up camp once the sun hung low in the sky and cast a deep haze over the land. They found a good spot not too far off their path against a large cropping of rocks surrounded by thick trees that would help protect them against the chilled wind that night.

The horse was hitched to a low branch, supplies moved to where the tents would be going up, and the group got to unpacking what they'd need for the night. A fire was quickly set up and excess snow cleared from the ground around them, though the tent building was slowed by lack of inexperience on the parts of Nichole and Bevin.

“I haven't camped in years and the tents we have often just pop up now!” Nichole explained as she held one of the poles propping the thick canvas steady as the others began marking stakes around it. “Or, better yet, we take an RV and have heating and A/C and running water and working toilets!”

“Nikki, quit moving!” Bevin admonished, afraid the whole thing would come down and they'd have to restart the process.

Cassandra set the main poles once they were ready to pull everything tight. They got it up without too many hitches. The second tent went up much faster than the first.

Bevin hopped up on one of the lower rocks near the fire after brushing snow off it and propping her staff nearby, “I haven't really camped since I was little, though never really like this. I used to sneak out to the forest around my house on nights when my dad wasn't home.”

“You rebel! You're mom didn't care?” Nichole sat and started warming her hands. She and Varric had found a downed tree somewhere nearby that would serve as just enough to keep everyone off the cold ground.

Bevin pulled her cloak around herself and pulled the hood up, huddling as close to the fire as she could. “You could say that. She was passive, absent-ish. Didn't care what I did, but would tell my dad, so I still had to sneak out and back in before she noticed. I was home-schooled, so I just really hated being cooped up in that house all the time.”

Nichole grimaced, “You were home-schooled?”

Bevin accepted a ration from Cassandra with thanks, “Up until I started high-school.” More dried meat, some cheese, and a bit of bread. Hopefully, they'd be able to get something fresh soon with the change in climate to the Hinterlands as this was a meal she'd grow tired of quickly.

“We had a kid like that at my school. He was super awkward.” Nichole took her own ration, looking less than thrilled when she unwrapped it.

Bevin shrugged, “Yeah, I imagine I came off like that. I mostly kept to myself.”

“Your family super religious or something?” the blonde asked.

Bevin's face scrunched up in distaste, “ _Oh_ , yeah. My dad was an elder of the cult they belonged to.”

Nichole's eyes grew big and she swallowed thickly in a hurry to get her words out, “Like, legit _cult_?”

The words came out faster than she could properly think them over, “Oppressive, suppressive, puritanical isolationists who liked to speak in 'tongues,' handle venomous snakes, thought prayer was the best and only medicine, and performed weird rituals and exorcisms…kind of cult. They were quote-unquote 'Catholics' who thought the Pope had become demon-possessed, and believed in a ton of non-canon shit. I'm pretty sure they just made it up as they went along. But the town was small and over-run with them, so it was damned difficult to get _out_ since everything was so isolated and community-wide.” Bevin noticed she'd gotten the wide-eyed, rapt attention of not only Nichole, but the rest of the group as their eyes moved between the two, processing their words.

Nichole swore and asked, “How'd you get out?”

Bevin bit her lip in a frown, casting her eyes towards the glowing fire. She'd opened this line of inquiry, but had no intention of continuing it. “I had the help of some very kind strangers on the internet.”

“ _No_ , no, no, no! I want the whole story!” Nichole begged.

She sighed and tried to give the least that would satisfy Nichole, “There's not really a whole lot to it. When I started going to an actual school, it had computers with internet. I managed to reach out to a support group who put me in touch with the right people.”

The blonde rolled her eyes as she scoffed at her answer, “So, what, you just filed paperwork or something and got whisked away?”

“Well, it's more complicated than that...” Bevin stuffed the last of her food into her mouth, realizing too late that she should have just agreed.

“Ha! See there's more to it!” Brown eyes narrowed on her in a pout.

“I just don't really like talking about it. I'd tell you to just look it up, but, well,” Bevin gave her a tired, crooked smile and hoped she'd drop the topic.

“So it got media attention?” Nichole prodded more, to Bevin's exasperation.

“Anyone know any good campfire stories?” Varric interrupted.

“As a storyteller, would you not, Varric?” Cassandra asked as she stood momentarily to stretch and tossed the old parchment from her ration into the fire. She grabbed a flask of water to pass around.

“Well, he said 'good,' so,” Nichole answered cheekily.

The dwarf feigned offense, though let out a loud laugh, “Oh, ho! You've never even _read_ my books!” Nichole just grinned toothily at him.

Bevin laughed along, “I need some fiction; I'll read 'em, Varric. Let you know how you stack up against the greats of our world.” She winked at him.

He waved his hands in front of himself, “I dunno, that sounds like a _lot_ of pressure!”

Soon Varric had been pushed enough through his hemming and hawing and the thumbings at his work to regale them with a tavern story. They chatted amicably around the fire until the yawning started. Cassandra decreed that watches would be established for the night, but that neither Bevin nor Nichole were to be up without someone more experienced until otherwise noted given their lack of survival skills equating them to “babes lost in the forest.”

Nichole and Varric were quick to dive out of sight into either tent, giving preference for a later shift. Cassandra sighed and told the remaining two to wake her in a bit for second watch, before disappearing to settle into the tent with Nichole.

This left Bevin and Solas staring into the crackling fire.

Bevin fell on her back against the rock with an 'oomph.' The sky still wasn't clear enough to see the stars. Clouds were all pulled into a slow vortex eyed at the distant, but visible Breach. A bright, silvery moon could occasionally be glimpsed through the whirls and threads of clouds.

She wondered if the stars and moon would be different to the familiar ones she watched so often in her world. Were there other moons? Did anyone track planets and name stars?

Solas was lying across the tree trunk in such a way that made the wood look far more comfortable than it really was. His gaze was turned to the skies as well. They were both quite used to sharing the silence like this. The rest of their watch would likely proceed with few words exchanged.

Deciding she'd likely doze off watching the clouds go 'round and 'round, she pulled her phone out of the bag still at her hip and powered it on. She had a vague idea of some of the books she had stored, a dozen of which probably even had bookmarks from where she'd started them and got distracted, forgetting to ever return to them.

She scrolled through her library, looking for something to jump out at her. Settling on a collection of sci-fi short stories, she twisted around until she was in a more comfortable position on her stomach. Hoping for an uneventful night, she dove into the stories, enjoying the ambient sounds of the forest and light wind.

 


	6. And now we're in the Hinterlands, or “Oh, I missed grass!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bandits, apostates, and bears, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand Fancy's giving up on her original chapter word count. I think only one of them so far has even been in the 2-4k word range, and this one's blowing that out of the water. It doesn't really feel right breaking the individual scenes down into their own chapters, though.
> 
> I love feedback and hearing from readers! Lemme know what y'all think! Xx

* * *

The group was half a day out from the outpost they had stopped to resupply and rest at when Bevin was beset by a very brief vision of dead bodies on the road. She didn't know who they were or exactly what had happened to lead up to their deaths.

Cassandra seemed fairly convinced that they were bandits given the details that Bevin could describe, but didn't seem overly concerned beyond reminding everyone to stay alert as they trudged on.

A bouncing weight took up residence in Bevin's stomach. Killing demons was one thing. Killing another person was different. She realized that this world was leagues more dog-eat-dog and kill-or-be-killed than her own, but that didn't mean that the feelings and morals instilled in her throughout most of her life would suddenly change. Her schooling into the actions and motivations of criminals meant that she knew better than most of the numerous variables that could pull and push people into committing crimes. It was one thing to slay a being with malicious intent, but to kill someone who felt they needed to steal to provide food and clothes for their kid?

Nichole was stony-faced, seemingly unaffected but determined at first glance. Bevin could see how she nervously fingered the hem of her cloak, though, and she'd flinch at sudden sounds in the surrounding forest.

They had finally left the snow and icy mountain paths behind them. Grass grew welcomingly along the narrow road they traversed.

Though they'd been forewarned, it was still a flurry of adrenalized movement when they were sprung upon by bandits demanding their goods in exchange for keeping their lives, while looking like there wasn't a chance in hell they'd actually keep to their word of leaving them unharmed. That, of course, did _not_ go over well.

Bevin and Solas fell back to cast from a safer distance, while Varric took up a spot nearby to shoot, and Cassandra and Nichole met the bandits head on.

As their barriers came up, Bevin took note of the four men drawing weapons on them. One was much slower to act, looking for cues from the others at his position further back. His face and actions were hesitant and unsure, though from whether he was pressured to be there or from being against targeting their group in particular or another motivation, she was unsure. Frankly, he looked like the most rattled one of all here.

Taking a gamble, Bevin knocked him clear of the fighting with a paralyzing blast of electricity. She watched as another was violently thrown back from striking Nichole by several impaling shards of ice. He hit the ground limply. Given what she could see of the wounds from here and sudden outpour of blood from several wounds, the man was not going to be getting back up. If he wasn't dead now, he soon would be.

The last two bandits were quickly dispatched by the group's sword wielders. Nichole surprised her with the clean, severing slash to her opponent’s throat. The man was dead before he reached the ground. Eyes unseeing, his head lolled grotesquely from the fall and blood pooled rapidly from his neck. Cassandra's had gone down quite a bit messier with an aided bolt to the temple and several deep slashes to his arms and a thigh as he'd struggled, but doubled down on his attacks once he realized his life was in jeopardy.

Bevin was fast to cross the distance to the sole survivor, half afraid one of the others would be quick to finish him. He was still twitching from the shock and struggling to get back to his feet. She kicked his sword further away and leveled her staff at him. He looked up to her with terrified eyes as he immediately stilled his actions in fright. “What brings _you_ here?” she asked of him sternly, leaving little doubt to the second meaning of her words, 'Tell me why I shouldn't kill you?'

Eyes wide, he gasped for air, trembling. His words were slow to come through the stuttered tries, “My…my boy's gravely ill. I cannot afford the medicines after this season's crop failings and the demons now killing off my herds. I've already lost my wife to the sickness…” His eyes were welling up, no doubt thinking he'd never live past this, and she struggled to retain her authoritative composure.

She lowered her staff and relaxed her stance. “The Inquisition is looking for conscripts. Sign on at Haven and you will be able to earn a fair, _legal_ wage for the work you do.”

Cassandra stepped to her side, head held high and her stance authoritative, “We of the Inquisition have organized to bring justice to the death of her Holiness Divine Justinia and rid Thedas of the presence of demons. The Prophet of Andraste has shown you mercy this day. It would be wise to consider her words.” The Seeker proffered her hand to the downed man, her off hand remaining on the pommel of her sword.

His gaze was startled and disbelieving, but he soon gathered himself and took hold of her hand as she helped him to his feet. He eyed the group warily a few moments before a profound relief took him over.

Cassandra held a hand up to point back down the road they'd traveled. “We have an outpost half a day's journey down this path. They will see to you should you choose to join us.” She then walked off the road to collect the horse from where it had fled.

Bevin turned to see Varric going through the pockets of the now dead bandits. The action was oddly reminiscent of nearly every video game she had ever played. Her own palms itched and she hoped she didn't get the impulse to start stripping them of their gear à la Skyrim. Though, “What should be done with the bodies? We probably shouldn't leave them in the middle of the road like this.”

“Drag 'em off to the side or burn 'em, typically,” the dwarf shrugged, uncaring.

It wasn't easy to look at the bodies at her feet, but she was surprised at how little remorse she felt. Though she had not taken a life personally, their deaths bothered her less than the gore. She told herself that they had very willingly raised their swords to them with intent to kill. “Well, move them to the treeline and burn them.  Best not to let them rot out in the open.  May make the wildlife sick.”

Varric and Solas made short work of that task. Nichole stood near, her back to the scene and her head tipped back with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. She appeared to be taking deep breaths.

“You okay, Nikki?” Bevin called to her out of concern.

The blonde waved her off, “Yeah, just trying really hard not to throw up.”

She felt sorry for the woman and hoped she'd be able to cope. This was not going to be the end of the bloodshed by a long shot. Movement to the corner of her eye brought her attention back to the unknown man. He was rubbing at his limbs, likely trying to get the tingling from the electricity to go away. “It wears off,” she informed him. “There shouldn't be any lasting damage. I wish you and your son well.”

The man bowed deeply, nearly prostrating himself to the ground. “I thank you, your Worship, for the mercy you've shown me. I will not disappoint you!”

The group was quickly back on the road, not wanting to spare any more time at the scene of their first skirmish. They wanted to get as far as possible before they had to find a place to set up camp for the night again.

Bevin had been fairly lost in her own thoughts when Cassandra spoke to her, “You spared him.”

She felt urged to defend her actions, hastily responding, “He was two seconds from running while the others attacked, and he clearly didn't want to be there.”

The Seeker arched a brow skeptically at her words as she turned her head towards Bevin. “And _you_ purport to know the minds and motivations of criminals?”

Nichole hm-ed and voiced her opinion, “Well, that _is_ her specialty. She did go to school for it. And knowing her, she probably actually paid attention instead of partying like the rest of us.”

Bevin balked, nearly protesting that she did, in fact, have quite the social life, but controlled her tongue to further explain her studies over distracting the conversation, “Criminology. Study _of_ the minds and motivations of criminals. Many are brought to crime out of desperation and need, not because they enjoy such things as stealing and killing others. Our worlds may be vastly different in many ways but the basic motivations of people aren't really great mysteries.”

“And the other three? What of them?” Cassandra asked gruffly.

She saw that question coming, “Greed _is_ a motivator, a quite powerful one, but it doesn't lead most people to kill. They may have once been able to have been swayed to more noble causes, perhaps _still_ may have been, but they pretty much dug their own graves upon attacking. The man spared was desperate enough to potentially kill but had yet to cross that line. I just happened to catch him at the right time and provide an alternative that will hopefully outweigh the benefits of roadside robbery.”

The warrior let the conversation go for the moment, though Bevin wasn't sure whether she was purely testing her motivations behind sparing the man but agreed with the action, or was truly questioning her decision to spare the man at all.

Getting beyond that, this was another case of her vision having an impactful, changed outcome. Who was to say how this would change things? Maybe the man doesn't go on to join the Inquisition and, instead, continues a life of crime when he could have been stopped now? What if he ends up fucking something up for the Inquisition? What if his son was supposed to die from lack of proper treatment, but now goes on to be some supervillain?

“You seem troubled. Care to share your thoughts?” Solas pried.

She'd nearly jumped at his voice, not aware he was walking so close. Her lips pursed and she replied hesitantly, “Considering the impact of things changing. They had _all_ been killed in my vision.”

“How do you know that?” Nichole asked, though seemed distracted by her own thoughts.

Bevin looked at her incredulously. “Because I can count.”

Nichole snapped fully out of whatever she was thinking of and laughed it off, “Oh, yeah… Ignore me. But as I've said – you're probably _meant_ to change things. If they were all killed before, you saved a guy's life!”

Varric agreed, “Yeah, that's why you're the 'Prophet of Andraste!' Saving people from needless fates and early deaths.”

Bevin made a disgusted sound at the given title and rolled her eyes in exasperation. They weren't seeing the bigger picture, only the recent rosy bits. They weren't the ones that had to deal with days and weeks of pointless, mundane visions, hoping there's nothing important hidden in them, and then getting the out-of-the-blue, life-changing vision. This most recent one she hadn't even recognized as important until well _after_ she'd committed actions to change it.

Varric slapped Nichole of the back good-naturedly, “So you've never killed before, eh? Welcome to the club, Herald!” Nichole rubbed the back of her neck, unsure of what to say.

Cassandra frowned at Varric's action, “It is often best to get it over with sooner, rather than later.”

The dwarf laughed, “Well, I guess Sneezy hasn't popped that cherry, yet!” He threw a wink her way over his shoulder. She flipped a finger at him.

Solas looked down his nose at the shorter man, “Do not be so crass, Master Tethras.”

 

* * *

 

Halfway through their fifth day on the road saw the group coming upon the Inquisition's Hinterland's camp. They spoke briefly with Scout Harding before restocking their supplies. She told them of the nearby location of Mother Giselle, where there were currently problems with fights breaking out, and shared that Horsemaster Dennet, whose farm was across the valley, should also be approached as he'd be quite useful for procuring and caring for mounts for the Inquisition, something that was currently in very short supply, as they no doubt knew well.

The ensuing battles for the clearing of the Crossroads had been a grueling affair. Neither the apostate Mages nor the Templars were willing see any reason, attacking the group and supporting scouts wholeheartedly between attacks at each other. Bevin had dropped back into a support role, putting her barriers into good use to keep her companions safe against the projectile attacks from the warring Mages. She sent the occasional electrical surge out amid her own energy blasts, careful of friendly fire. Unlike her friendly spares with Solas, these battles had her surrounded by allies doing their own thing. She didn't trust her aim and ability enough at this point to pick off enemies in close combat with the others, as Solas could, so she focused on eliminating the ones attacking from a distance, who were mostly Mages but also the occasional archer.

The air around her was abuzz with energy from all of the magic. More than once, she found herself having to bite the inside of her cheek or her tongue to keep ignore the unpleasantness prickling across her face. She hadn't anticipated this, unlike with being touched directly by mana from a Mage, but with more people flinging magic around it made sense that it would scale.

The group eventually got split in two. Bevin bolstered Nichole and Varric against a pair of Templars while she took on her own Mage attacking from behind them. After minutes of parrying energy blasts back and forth while constantly pumping mana into renewing her barrier under the flurry of attacks to keep it from shattering or falling under the hail of ice projectiles from the Mage, Bevin was struck with an idea.

She strengthened the violet barrier and called to her companions, warning them to keep all extremities within it. Thrusting her staff out, a flash of electricity connected with the Mage before arching over and along her barrier to strike the Templars. The Mage fell to the ground. The Templars looked rattled, but continued their assault. A blast of fire later and the Mage was definitely dead.

The deaths of most of these unknown people didn't entirely bother her personally, as long as she didn't dwell on them. But she couldn't say that of fellow Mages. She didn't just see them die, she _felt_ it. Their mana would leave their bodies and be dispersed around them, most of it being pulled back to the Veil, but her syphoning ability would pull in trace amounts of the released mana, as well, and this made her feel so incredibly unclean. Like she not only had their blood on her hands, but parts of their soul. The least she could do for her foes was ensure them quick deaths.

The first time it happened, she stalled pretty badly. Someone shook her out of it, likely passing it off as the effect of killing getting to her. The next several times still got to her, but she did her best to hold herself together and brush off the feelings.

With the Mage down, the Templars soon followed. These ones either didn't have the magic restraining abilities ranked Templars held or they simply weren't strong or focused enough to close off her connection with the Veil. Though heavily armored, their strikes couldn't do much against foes under the safety of an increasingly fortified barrier and they'd backed themselves into a wall. Nichole had long since figured out a rhythm to retreating fully and partially behind the barrier between blows, and Varric aimed up shots from well within its safety.

“I know I made fun of it the first time, but, uh, this thing's amazing!” Varric exclaimed, waving his arm in and out of her barrier, after their Templar opponents had been slain. “And I don't have to hear all their grunting and yelling as loud!”

Bevin rolled her eyes at him but grinned. “Pffft, that's actually something I'm still trying to eliminate from my barrier. I'd prefer to be able to fully hear my surroundings.”

They hustled to where Solas and Cassandra were finishing off what looked to be the last of Templars. They kept their distance since the two looked to have the fight well covered, but Bevin kept the barrier up around them to protect against any shrapnel. It would dissolve on its own soon anyway since there was no need to fortify it.

Cassandra and Solas were quick to rejoin them once their task was finished. The Seeker inquired of the group's health. Some scrapes and bruises around the lot, a slight burn to Bevin's sleeve where she had failed to dodge a Mage's fireball quick enough, and Nichole had a shallow cut to one arm, though her armor and clothing looked to have taken the brunt of that strike. Varric complained of his toes still being chilled after stepping on a ring of ice glyphs.

Speaking of trap glyphs, _those_ looked fun. She'd read briefly of them, but, like much of what she'd read, hadn't yet seen them firsthand in action. She could imagine one that rained lightning down on the unlucky victim, and one that lit a tempest of fire beneath their feet! _I wonder if I could do both..._

Solas was eyeing up her slowly dimming barrier, a slight cant to his head. There was a pull at his lips as he raised a hand to it, fingers barely aglow. The barrier reacted by shattering like thick glass into millions of quickly dissolving pieces.

Bevin scowled playfully at the elf and shook her head. The weird things that amused him. And _of course_ no-one else saw.

But she was thankful now more than ever that she had him to train her and spare with. He was several leagues over these Mages and much more tactful in battle. By comparison, these apostates she'd fought were _easy_. She was very curious how she stacked up against other Mages. And where the hell Solas was on the scale. Watching his attacks carefully, she considered a great deal of them to be overkill, but knew that he was efficient in his magic use and also subscribed to the philosophy of quick death.

Together, Nichole and Bevin spoke to Mother Giselle at last. Well, Nichole spoke and Bevin observed. The other woman was much better with new people and the whole talking thing. Mother Giselle's words of the Chantry weren't too surprising, but some were encouraging. Planting the seeds of doubt to stir up the clerics for now shouldn't be _that_ hard. She informed them that she would soon be traveling to Haven and would speak to Sister Leliana of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a meeting with the Inquisition's holy figures…or mascots, as Bevin was beginning to feel like.

Their next order of business was talking the local horsemaster into joining the efforts of the Inquisition. This lead to the group bouncing around half the Hinterlands to mark off areas for watchtowers, fend off packs of wolves, and chaperone a “druffalo” back to the farm. Dennet wanted the farmlands safe before he'd even consider leaving for Haven. Though these tasks were tedious to all involved, the more experienced members of the group insisted these were good efforts for Nichole and Bevin to get a better feel for the land and build their skills. Others seeing the Herald and Prophet take on these tasks themselves would serve to increase their influence in the area and get people talking positively of them.

Fending off the damn bears was something she could have done without.

Finally finding a good water source had made the Earthling women whoop for joy. The standard of hygiene in this land wasn't as terrible as they'd worried, but while traveling they had to be choosey and had other priorities. Upon listing their health worries, however, the others had agreed that more effort would be put into at least brief stops to wash up some. Water creation was not foreign to the Mages of the group, but it wasn't entirely practical for bathing and good scrubbing, instead used for minor tasks like refilling flasks and cleansing wounds.

Along their zigzagging around the Hinterlands, they took care of stray Fade rifts they came across. It was almost nice fighting demons again. Something inherently evil that she didn't feel bad about unleashing against. Her companions seemed equally enthused as they hack and slashed their way to closing each rift.

It wasn't long before Bevin was beginning to notice something… _interesting_ happening in the events surrounding the close of a rift. She fully expected some the mana from closing the rift going back to Nichole – that was how the power of the Mark on her hand increased. She wasn't even surprised by her own greedy syphoning powers sucking up bits of the fading mana – which had a fairly distinct _unpleasantness_ to its feel. _Is it healthy to be taking in corrupt mana like this?_ But, peculiarly, a _large_ part of it was actually going to…Solas.

Who, for all intents, looked completely unperturbed by this, as though it wasn't happening. But she knew better. She wasn't stupid enough to assume it was something he was unaware of. The man _personified_ thoughtful and deliberate. She only even noticed at all due to her apparently greatly enhanced ability to read mana.

Bevin had no idea what was considered a _normal_ mana-reading skill, at least for her supposed level of experience. Solas was aware of it in a general sense, it seemed, from how he'd speak of it, but she wasn't sure how specifically or from how far he could read it. Did all mana feel the same or similarly to him, or was he able to do as she could and pick out individual signatures? Could he see the barely-there auras that surrounded Mages? This wasn't syphoning. The mana wasn't being pulled towards him, or Nichole, for that matter, like it was for her. And, if he was to be believed, he had little knowledge of the mechanics behind the art. She doubted he'd be so open about the transference of the rifts' power to him if just any Mage could easily see it and follow the drifts and flows, given the circumstances surrounding the rifts and the Breach. It likely wasn't something she was even supposed to know about. Maybe she could somehow figure out the extent of _his_ ability here.

She'd had her suspicions before, but this was cementing them: he _was_ involved in this Breach clusterfuck nonsense somehow. She just didn't know all of the 'how's and 'why's. Maybe he was some kind of burgeoning supervillain. Tattling didn't feel right, not knowing his motives and the events leading up to the creation of the Breach. Staying off his bad side was also a good idea. Just in case he decided to go on a killing spree, maybe he'd spare her if they remained friendly. Although episodes of Criminal Minds told her _that_ could get into weird, creepy stalker territory. At this point, she wasn't entirely sure anyone else would even believe her. He might as well have been some Buddhist monk, a wolf parading around in a sheep's clothing.

However, if he personally had ignoble reasons to do with exactly why she and Nichole were dragged through the Breach, she'd skin him alive.

 

* * *

 

She was particularly quiet that night and had only picked at her supper ration. Normally she'd join in with the Herald's stories and jokes and answer Varric's increasingly prying questions into their past lives. She sat across the fire, cloak pulled around her, head perched on her arms crossed over her knees, staring unblinkingly into the fire. Something was weighing heavy on her mind. With all that had happened recently, it could be any number of things, many of which were quite complex with no immediate answers.

They'd chosen to stick to their established watch rotations again for the night. Bevin looked up briefly, though green eyes not wholly seeing, at the movements of the others preparing to sleep. Once the others had settled in, Solas stood, moving around the fire to sit next to her. Her gaze was already back into the flames, unfocused and back to the thoughts that plagued her this night.

“What is on your mind?” he softly inquired.

She was silent for several minutes, for so long that he wasn't sure that she'd even noticed he moved or heard him speak. Her eyes flickered to his, then back to the fire. She took in a deep breath, exhaling heavily. “Do you feel it?” she paused for words, “The release of mana when Mages pass?”

It took him a moment to realize what it was of which she spoke. He was momentarily angry at himself for lacking the foresight to properly prepare her for it. There were many apostate Mages that did not approve of their group traipsing around their territory in the Hinterlands, and she'd held up well against them, her countenance not belying any inner struggle. “Yes, and I apologize for not having the mind to forewarn you of it.”

She did not have the lifelong training and experience other Mage's had. It was such a normal thing for him that it hadn't even come to mind to speak to her of it. Many skilled Mages were able to feel the mana in others. She had the skills, but lacked the knowledge and experience to use and make proper sense of all of them, though he'd give that _that_ was a dangerous area for him at which to throw assumptions with how she'd pull from other-worldly sources he had no knowledge of himself. Nor could he forget her inherent cleverness and curiosity.

His frown deepened, “I often forget that, though you have many of the skills of a more experienced Mage, this is all, in fact, still very new to you.”

With her gifts, Bevin was likely in tune with and sensitized to things she couldn't even fully comprehend yet. Given her syphoning abilities, there was little doubt she'd made the connection that she was intaking mana from nearby fallen Mages, and he could see how _that_ would be disturbing, especially paired with being able to feel the precise moment a Mage expired. It could be much more personally cutting than even the act of slaying a foe. Some Mages learned to take relief in the knowledge in whether or not their opponent or another was truly dead, others were consoled by the returning of mana to the Fade as it was reminiscent of a soul passing on.

The redhead shifted to look at him fully, her cheek still pressed to her arms. Unbound curls had escaped the confines of her cloak to fall gently over her form, and her tired eyes glinted softly in the fire light. “How do you experience it?” she asked in earnest curiosity.

He searched for the words to properly convey it to her, “It is very akin to a candle's flame being blown out.”

Her eyes narrowed briefly as her gaze shifted. He wondered if she saw it differently or if she was merely trying to apply the metaphor to her own experiences.

She began fidgeting with her fingers, eyes returning to the fire once more. Bevin spoke shortly, her inner turmoil evident in her words, “It's one of the things that just makes all of this,” she waved a hand about, “that much more real. Sometimes…I think that any moment I'm gonna wake up at my desk or my bed or something, and I'll get up and walk to the fridge, open it, and go, 'Oh yeah, I need to get milk.' And this whole thing will have just been a really weird dream from playing too many fantasy video games.”

“There are those who would see _your_ land as a fantasy. Magic is often treated as a scourge on this world; ability to control it pitied and feared.” He leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together in front of himself.

Bevin sat up with a laugh. Her nose scrunched, “It has it's own problems. If not magic, it'd be something else they'd treat similarly. Well, _actually_ , throughout our history there are several periods where everyone freaks out over what they _think_ is witchcraft and sorcery, burning and drowning and stoning the supposed witches. Quite a few still think like that. It's why we have exorcisms even though we don't have demons. So, rest assured, even _without_ magic, people will freak out over 'magic.'”

A look of indignation passed over her features, “That phenomenon is something that worries me. There's all this pressure, and you never really know when it might crack. When everyone goes from 'You saved a person!' to ' _Why_ couldn't you save them?' and 'You saved him but not _her_?' or 'Why don't you know what to do?'…' _What did you do wrong_?' As soon as I or my powers are seen as something scary, or even just wrong, instead of holy, I'll have people calling for my head again. If the Chantry has its way, I'll just be a villain. Another scary unknown to be killed and buried.” She sounded defeated, her tone becoming wistful as she spoke, like she knew this was something that would come to pass.

She was right, it was a truly massive responsibility that had been bestowed upon her, perhaps undeservedly. But fate was never so fair in such things. Her apprehensions and stress were well founded. People are fickle and the woman was being thrust into the light with ever more eyes upon her and any mistakes she could and would make. He told her as much. Not to scare her, for he knew her mind had long since been there, but to let her know that she had his sympathies and that her fears were not baseless.

Solas tried to assuage some of her insecurities, “But you have allies, potentially even friends within the Inquisition's ranks. One would hope that they would not be so quick to turn or pass judgment.”

Her laugh was bitter. “I'm not sure sure that would help much if it comes to that and they think that I've failed or slighted their god. I've seen what religion can do to people, and what they'll do in the name of it.”

As had he.

Bevin glanced towards the tents. Her voiced hushed and she leaned closer to hiss, “I'm not sure Nikki and I would have both left the Chantry all in one piece that first night had Leliana not been there to calm Cassandra down. And then she turns right around, calling our intervention 'divine providence.' I can understand anger at the events that happened, but she lets it guide her to extremes and flip flops according to her feelings.”

Hm. She held a deeper distrust for the Seeker, one that would remain at the back of her mind no matter the other woman's forthcoming actions. That first day had very much stained her impressions of Cassandra, possibly irreparably. It was a relationship he'd note. It had potential to be the root of future conflict or to be taken to his advantage.

“Our Seeker is highly distrustful of magic. To say she was reluctant to allow my study of the Breach would be an understatement. Cassandra would have vastly preferred that I be imprisoned as an apostate, a course of action that she continues yet to threaten.” He wanted to further align himself, in her eyes, to her interests, especially within the ranks of their inner group of the Inquisition. If she saw him as a confidant, an ally, a friend, at the very least, she would come to turn a blind eye to his actions.

“Indeed, sense seems of short supply these days. Perhaps you should speak with Nichole,” he imparted. “If she has not already, she likely _will_ have many of the same thoughts and concerns as you harbor. If nothing else, you have me with whom to talk. You are not alone.”

His efforts were rewarded with a small smile. “Thank-you, Solas.” She settled back, her mood lifting.

A companionable silence fell over them. It wasn't long before she was digging into her pack for her phone. A minute later and he could just make out blocks of text on the glowing surface. The device was truly marvelous to be able to house so much easily retrieved information. The amount of knowledge that could be so weightlessly carried on a person and shared was near mind-boggling. Such a thing would cause a complete shift in cultures.

Solas couldn't hide his curiosity of it. Bevin seemed quite the avid reader, so easily pulled into the words at her fingers. He held no doubt her device was filled with all sorts of glimpses into her world and her mind.

He'd get her to lend it to him.

 


	7. Le Voyage à Val Royeaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> '***' will now be used to denote scene changes within a POV. A full line break will denote a change in POV, though possibly a major scene change. Travel times are mostly for mounted travel and are heavily guesstimated and a little fudged.
> 
> Happy holidays, my dear readers!

* * *

“ _Having them address the clerics is not a terrible idea.”_

“ _You can't be serious?”_

“ _Mother Giselle isn't wrong. At the moment, the Chantry's only strength is that they are united in opinion.”_

“ _And we should ignore the danger to either of them?”_

“ _Why don't we ask them, then?”_

 

* * *

 

They'd only really been back at Haven long enough to argue over whether or not going to Val Roy...al? in person was a good idea or not.

 _Sure_ , they could fight demons and close rifts, but their safety was being compromised talking to clerics and the potential angry mobs surrounding them. Cassandra had finally been the voice of reason, reminding everyone that they had no functioning support in closing the Breach. There was no other option but to head out once more. Whatever would get this Breach and mark business over the quickest, or lead to a way to get them back home.

Or at least herself, since Bevin didn't exactly seem all that concerned about going back. It was finally beginning to set in that this really _wasn't_ a wacky dream – at least not one she'd be waking from anytime soon – and that she really was _stuck_ in this strange land. The petite _Mage_ was perfectly content to run around waving her staff and setting things on fire. Like this was some convoluted game. Though she had to agree with the redhead, there was little point in sitting around moping. Just because she evidently had more to lose than her comrade, didn't mean that it was fair to take it out on Bevin. If they were to be stuck here, they may as well make the most of it, and “adapt or whither” as was put rather cryptically by more than one person.

Nichole had used what little time they'd had before setting out to scrub up, get a fresh change of clothes, and eat something fresh, besides meat and whatever weird plants the elf yanked up, for the first time in weeks. She'd be on the road for likely over a month again with the same ragtag group, going by the advisers' time estimates for getting to the capital and back again. At least they would all have horses this time since the horsemaster had hit the ground running with his duties. In the time left, she'd sought out the Commander. Talking with Cullen was serving to keep her grounded and she wouldn't be able to see him again for quite some time. The man seemed like one of the few normal things around. He treated her like a person, not a pawn to be used with no consideration to her feelings in the matter. He didn't fully understand the magic stuff either or the thoughts of Mages, but he tried to see things from the other perspective despite being a former Templar, and helped her to do so, as well. Bevin was one of those people who liked to dive into books and just know things – the academic sort. Solas was the same, so she connected well with him. It was new and shiny, so throwing herself into her magic was probably her way of coping and adapting. Much like how Nichole found new thrill and focus in her arms training.

She'd never admit it, but she was kind of jealous of how easy Bevin seemed to fit into the culture here. Bevin had certainly had her complaints at first, but she wasn't the whinging sort. Having to find somewhere in the bushes to pee while they traveled didn't bother her. Not having proper hair products didn't bother her. Having primitive foods didn't bother her. Not having a proper change of clothes for weeks didn't bother her. Having to hunt and forage when they wanted food beyond their rations didn't bother her. Having no hot water to bathe with _had_ bothered her…until she found a way to cheat with her magic.

It was all so _exhausting_. If she ever found a way back home, she'd really have to give thanks for all of her privileges there.

She'd asked Bevin how she dealt with so much of this so well and had been hit with, “I've had to do this before.” Nichole had almost forgotten that she'd grown up sheltered in some backwater cult society – Bevin didn't look or act the part, not that she knew many ex-cult members. Going from that to the real world had to have been quite the culture shock. And while that was confirmed true, that apparently wasn't what Bevin had meant. “Also very true, but I mean all _this_. Whenever I managed to run away from home when I was younger, I lived in the forests.”

The younger woman tended to keep to select people when not off alone. Given _that_ , Bevin still somehow knew the odd names of damn near everyone. The cooks and servants _adored_ her. Bevin's answer to that had alarmed her and made her realize that she wasn't doing enough to fit in with the people here. The redhead was _very_ concerned, perhaps a little overly so, about how others perceived her because of her powers, using citations of the Salem witch trials and various movies. “I'm normally a nice, friendly person, but I'm very familiar with crazy and don't really need anyone turning on me because they're afraid of what I might do. Though you're not a Mage, many people see you similarly to us because of your Mark. A good dose of paranoia may be healthy in our cases. Just look at how they treated us when we first came here.” Nichole had to admit, she'd really tried to push memories of that first day out of her head.

Once they were heading back out, Nichole had been hit with a strong sense of schadenfreude watching Bevin flounder with her reindeer mount-thing. She'd _clearly_ never ridden before and was not at all comfortable, in turn making her mount shifty. Nichole, however, had frequently ridden since she was young. It was comforting being back in the saddle – something familiar in this vast world of things that weren't. It was nice being better than her at something.

* * *

Val Roy-o was a good few weeks' travel on horseback, plus a day trip across some body of water. They'd be going through a series of outposts and stops manned by scouts and those friendly towards the Inquisition in order to keep their supplies up and be able to periodically receive and send word back to Haven.

Bevin freaked out at the first relatively clear sky they'd yet seen – Nichole was happy for it, but only because of how absolutely dreary and mood-dampening it had been up til then. Bevin wasn't exactly what she'd call easily excitable, and she had _squealed_ in elation before hastily scribbling something in the notebook she always carried on her. Nichole didn't fully understand the significance of whatever Bevin had seen, nor did she know enough about space-anything to be able to parse the words tumbling quickly from the redhead's mouth.

“Your neck's gonna get stuck like that,” she warned in jest as Bevin watched the skies with her head keened back at an uncomfortable position.

Bevin sighed loudly in what could only be exasperation. She pointed up, tracing shapes in the sky, “That's Orion the Hunter. And there's Ursa Major!” She turned in her saddle, “And Venus! I've been trying to figure out if we were on some other planet and or in a different universe. We're on another version of Earth – in an alternate universe. It pretty much proves the multi-verse theory!” Everyone else was now craning their necks towards the sky, trying to see what Bevin saw. Cassandra and Varric were mumbling over not being familiar with those constellations.

She grit her teeth, running her fingers restlessly through her hair loose about her shoulders, “Dandy. What does that mean?” That was cool and all, but if it didn't help them get home, it was just another pointless fact.

Bevin tilted her head down to look at her and did that little wiggle-puff up thing she did whenever she was about to go into some complex explanation, “Well, the first step in figuring out how we got here and how to get back is working out the relationship between here and our world.” Okay, that…made sense. Nichole relaxed.

“And then what? What's the next step?” Nichole asked, eager to see if Bevin had worked out a plan.

“Well, we got here through magic. Or a worm hole. Or both. So, on the bright side, we don't need a rocketship!” She was smiling in a way that Nichole was sure was meant to be reassuring. Great. She _didn't_ actually have a plan.

Nichole deflated atop her mount.

From behind her she could hear the hope in Bevin's tone, “It gives direction for research. We have to have an idea of where to look to even really get started properly.”

Nichole wished there was a way that she could help, too. But she didn't understand enough about mana and magic and the Veil and the freaking Fade. Bevin had tried to help her comprehend, hell, she'd even gone to Solas to see if he could explain it any clearer. She wanted neither of them talking down to her, but it was clear that she wasn't at their level of scholarship. She'd asked to borrow some of Bevin's beginner's magic books to see if she could pick it up on her own at a slower pace – one of the dang heavy things was taking up valuable space in her pack.

She hoped that if she understood the basics of what they talked about, then she'd at least be able to follow along in their conversations and keep her eyes and ears open for relevant information.

The only real hiccups came from the occasional bandit entourage, overly curious villagers, and their group psychic going all glowy-eyed, passing out, and nearly falling off her reindeer a few days out from their destination. Bevin had been silent for several moments processing her vision with a deep frown. She'd ultimately refused to share it with the group, which was new and lead to much protest from Cassandra. “This one's too delicate and shouldn't change, saying too much could alter it.” She didn't look particularly solemn or worried yet, but she wouldn't even say if it had to do with Val Royeaux or their boat trip or something else. She'd trust her judgment, though. Maybe this vision was only to serve to keep their guard up.

* * *

Their day at Val Royeaux had been a wake-up call. It had been quite some time since she was treated with fear and derision instead of awe and having people throw themselves at her. Once again, she and Bevin were being called monsters and murderers and “false prophets.” The last being kinda laughable given how Bevin could _literally_ see the future.

Then arguing with a cleric, only to have a Templar march up and punch the elder across the face. It had been one part funny and many parts terrifying. And then to be called more names with the Inquisition further dragged through the mud by this “Lord Seeker.” Cullen had mentioned gaining the support of the Templars to help close the Breach. Were these the people that he had meant? Did they really want to be reaching out to _them_ and their self-important leader? At any rate, through the actions of all, the “seeds of uncertainty” had been sewn among the Chantry and the Orlesians.

* * *

In the end, they'd some how ended up with a requested meeting with the leader of the Mage Rebellion, a Grand Enchanter Fionna; picking up a ragamuffin “not-elfy,” Sera; and being invited to the estate of one Madame de Fer. All-in-all, it looked as though their trip had been well worth the time and effort.

Nichole overheard Solas speaking with Bevin behind the rest of the group as they left the city. She didn't know him well enough to be able to read him very well, so tried her best to listen in without being too obvious. Her vision had been of the speech at the forum and the Templars' intervention and grandstanding? His tone said that he was sure of this. Bevin readily confirmed, probably because it was now well over. _That_ was why Bevin hadn't reacted like everyone else when the head Templar guy slugged the nun lady.

“I find no fault in your decision to keep it secret. With a power so tenuous, being delicate is a must.” Cassandra had said much in opposition to this decision. His reassuring words had the effect of brightening Bevin's heavy mood again.

The redhead laughed lightly, relaxing her gait, “Well, no-one had died or been _seriously_ injured and I quite wanted it to stay that way.”

“Next time, however, do not let your gaze reveal your knowledge. Others may make inferences from your posture, your fidgeting, your reactions – or lack thereof. Hints you must not drop.” Praise and critique all at once.  The guy had a way of killing a mood, and she watched as Bevin winced and her shoulders dropped once more. She must have agreed with him or she would have been quick with some kind of retort.

* * *

The now slightly expanded group had decided to make the two day trip to the Ghislain Estate just north of Val Royeaux after sending word back to Haven via one of Sister Leliana's scouts. They were already in the area, so why waste a trip?

Bevin, for one, seemed relieved that they had finally left the fancy city behind. She was rubbing at her temples and sneered, “Ugh. Orlesian's like French word salad. It's got all the same sounds, tones, and inflections, but the words are, like, ninety percent different, so my brain just parses it as gibberish… Makes my head hurt.”

Nichole laughed, screwing up her face as she tried to imagine it, “I can't even picture an equivalent. I took a _whole_ semester of Spanish in high-school, though, so foreign languages aren't exactly my specialty.”

Bevin tipped her head back, her jaw cocked until she thought of something. “There's a song by an Italian composer that tries to mimic what English rock music sounds like to non-speakers, for native speakers. _That's_ pretty close. Not sure I have it, though. It's kind of like the… oh, what is it? 'Has anyone really been even go want to look more like' meme thing.” Her finger circled in the air next to her head as she continued dryly, “Except that it's kind of this constant _tittering_ around you, and you feel like you're going mad because it _all_ sounds so nonsensical.”

There was a snort from the newcomer. “Pffft, even when they speak Common, it's nothin' but ground up gibberish!” Sera piped in. “ _You_ just have the benefit of hearin' it for what it really is. So, you guys really aren't from _here_? I mean, I just thought it was some stupid rumor to go along with you bein' giant demons an' that dumb shit.”

“I think we're from a different… _version_ of this world.” Nichole's eyes slid to Bevin who just nodded and shrugged. “Like, _really_ different.”

“No shit? Face tattoos popular in your world, too?” Sera asked, met with a groan from Bevin.

“Nope! Quite the opposite,” Nichole answered for her.

Sera leaned forward in attempt to get a better look at Bevin's face, “So, what are they? They've nothin' to do with that dumb elfy ritual where they mark 'emselves up for their bloody gods, yeah?” Nichole looked to Bevin, having no idea what the prankster elf was even talking about.

“No, it's not a 'valla-whatever,'” Bevin grumbled, crossing her arms.

“ _Vallas_ _'_ _lin_ ,” Solas supplied.

“ _That_ ,” Bevin agreed. Nichole wondered if her stark markings garnered this question often to provoke such a grievance from her.

Sera was unsatisfied and continued to poke, “What are they, then?”

“Not a clue. But enough about my face, _she's_ the one with the _glowing_ hand!” Nichole caught the wink the redhead gave her. Oh, the sneak! She was just trying to off-load the pestering questions to _her!_

Unfortunately, her tactic was successful, so now Nichole was left fielding Sera's many inquiries while Bevin whistled some vaguely familiar tune, daydreaming off to the distance. Solas entered their conversation once she started asking over Sera's origins. Watching them bicker back and forth had proved to be quite entertaining. She was gathering that they were both oddities for elves.

* * *

They picked up another damn smarter-than-thou Mage from their trip to that fancy-schmancy mansion. Granted, she seemed to be at almost _immediate_ odds with Bevin and Solas and...really just everyone. At least she was traveling to Haven on her own and not hitching up with them all the way back. No-one seemed particularly thrilled to have Vivienne joining their ranks, but it was argued that the Enchantress would be a good ally to have.

Nichole would just be glad when they got back to Haven. Hopefully they'd get more than a day's rest before anything else this time.

 

* * *

 

Everyone was just settling in for the night. Bevin was stoking the fire and throwing more wood in when Nichole came back out and sat next to her, casting glances to the elf lying on the ground watching the stars.

Nichole was fidgeting with her fingers and biting her lip. Bevin raised a brow, somewhat concerned at this odd behavior, “What's wrong?” When there was no reply, she turned to face the blonde.

Nichole was deliberately avoiding her gaze, pink in the cheeks. After a few false starts, she managed to hastily whisper, “ _Aunt Flow_ finally came to visit. How do I deal with her?”

Bevin stared at her blankly until it clicked what she was talking about. She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. She was _not_ the best one to ask for this. “Sorry, you'll have to ask Cassandra or Sera. It's not really something that I…have to deal with anymore.”

Brief confusion gave way to a hint of interest, “Lucky! You have that fancy birth control?”

“Er…sort of?” Bevin trailed off.

Nichole pulled a face, her voice raising slightly now that she wasn't quite as embarrassed, “I should have gotten one of those. I kept worrying over the side effects and horror cases, though. Which do you have? What're you gonna do when it needs to come out?” She looked like she was about to start panicking _for_ her.

Bevin's lips quirked, “The kind where they remove your uterus. And it's already out, I had a few periodic, cleared check-ups, so there's no worrying for the rest of ever.” Not one but two heads had snapped towards her. Only one wore a look of horror, however. Bevin rolled her eyes, “I had it removed to fix the shit it was causing. It was like having Gary Busey as a property manager who'd throw a shit fit whenever _he_ thought a new tenant should have moved in. Which was, like, every other week, but sometimes non-stop for a few months. So I had the property torn down.”

Nichole's face turned pitiful when Bevin was really hoping for a laugh, “Oh, that's sad. So you can't have kids?”

She looked at her incredulously, “Sad? Thank the gods. I've never wanted any. Permanent birth control, _for the win_. Especially here. I dunno what the fuck they use to _not_ get pregnant, and now I don't have to worry about that. Just…venereal disease.” She grinned.

“What if you change your mind?” Nichole asked. Bevin scowled at her. The blonde shrugged and defended the inquiry, “Lots of people _say_ they don't want kids, but then they decide they do later.”

Nichole loved her prying, invasive, kind of inappropriate questions. She flatly replied, “Change my mind? _From what?_   I made my decision. It's not something that I give any thought to – aside from when I get asked about it.” Bevin pointedly looked to Nichole. “Dude, it was my uterus or my health. I _gladly_ chose my health and practically had to fight for it until I finally found a doctor who'd _fix me_ instead of just loading me up on more pills forever. I was sick of the side effects and my IUD just made it worse. I feel _so_ much better with it gone.”

Nichole's tone pitched high, “Doctors don't want to do that kind of thing because lots of people _do_ change their minds or regret it! A guy I worked with was trying to figure out how to get his vasectomy reversed because his wife wanted another kid.” Bevin sighed with a roll of her eyes, out with the anecdotes.

She propped her elbow on her knee and palmed her chin as she eyed Nichole. Her nostrils flared in aggravation, “ _I_ knew several people who started having kids practically as soon as they were able, fourteen, fifteen years old – in their damn teens. I can choose to pop out kids at any time, with no thought to how stable my life is, but I can't choose to _not_ have any? What, because I'm _'too young'_ to be able to make decisions for myself?” The last part was hissed out, trying to remain mindful that they were surrounded by others who didn't exactly need to be privy to the conversation or rudely woken up. Nichole looked to be stunned into silence.

They were quiet for a time before Nichole thought up another question, “What if your future SO wants them?”

Bevin almost didn't deign that worth a serious response, if one at all. She went halvesies, “They'd be pretty shit outta luck. I have no vacancies and don't want to be adopting anything other than dogs and fluffy critters. As is, I don't date people who want kids. Which, yeah, makes dating fucking hard in a society where everyone's baby-crazy.” She rather wondered how she'd fare in this world. Enough people in her own considered her to be a “broken women” with no womb and zero aspirations for offspring.

She tossed another stick into the fire and poked it with more force than really needed. “Really though, for period stuff, ask Cassandra or Sera. If you're lucky, one of them's probably even still awake.”

Nichole pouted, sitting a few more moments before yawning and standing to slowly making her way back to her tent.

Bevin slid forward from the log to sit on the ground closer to the fire. It was warm enough here that she had removed her cloak and mantle, but the warmth of the fire still felt nice against her bared arms.

“For your future reference,” came Solas' voice in a low timber from across the fire, “and that of Miss Nichole, there are herbal mixtures that can be taken for the prevention of pregnancy. Likewise, there are remedies and healers for various…venereal diseases.” How nice of him to inform her, even when his tone was a clear plea to _not_ go fooling around.

“So _bloody_ glad I don't have to deal with half of that,” Bevin mumbled to herself as she slumped back against the log behind her. “And periods.”  She giggled silently at her unintentional choice of words.


	8. Enter Madame de Fer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bevin discovers that she isn't safe from her visions even while asleep, and the Iron Lady wants in on the action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't originally going to include much Vivienne. But then I got ~ideas.~ xx

* * *

\- A Day or So Since Arrival at Haven from their trip to Val Royeaux -

Bevin had been kicked from the Fade only to find herself in the morning sun walking past the training fields where Commander Cullen is running soldiers through drills. _No, this is a vision._ One of the soldiers collapses in a heap, his arms going to his abdomen as he howls in pain. Cullen is at his side quickly, removing the man's helmet to better see him. The man's an elf with long, choppy brown hair and tanned skin. A branching vallas'lin is painted dark upon his brow. Cullen is ordering another soldier to help get the man to the healer.

It is here where the vision fades.

She came back around with a gasp, throwing herself up from her bed so fast she had to fight a wave of dizziness. This wasn't something that could wait until morning if the event was going to be as soon as several hours away. Her first damn night back in her comparatively comfier bed, and she's woken up in the middle of the night for _this_ crap.

Grabbing her green wrap-around robe from the trunk at the foot of her bed, Bevin threw it on over her sleeping attire. She pulled her boots on and tied the laces sloppily. She had no idea who this elf was, but if she described him well enough to Cullen, they might be in luck.

Solas was stirring in his bed, no doubt alarmed that she had been pulled from the Fade so suddenly.

“Vision - gotta find Cullen!” was all that she flung over her shoulder for him as she rushed out the door in search of the Commander.

She hopped from foot to foot as the night chill hit her – this robe was not nearly as warm as the one she normally wore out and she wasn't wearing any leggings. Some shift scouts normally sat around the fire pit by the requisitions table. Maybe they'd know where to find Cullen.

Bevin normally wasn't up and about out here at this time of night, so these weren't faces that she readily recognized. Upon greeting them and seeing them jump up with formal greetings of “My Lady” and “Prophet,” she realized that they likely didn't see much of her, either, especially in such a frizzy-haired disarray.

“Sorry to disturb you, but I need to speak with Commander Cullen _right now_ ,” she said, hoping that they understood the urgency in her tone. “Where can I find him?”

The scouts conferred momentarily before one stepped forward and spoke, “He has a room in the Chantry. I'll escort you. If he isn't there, the head of the nightwatch should know where to find him.”

Bevin followed the other woman the short ways to the Chantry.

The scout turned and knocked solidly on the door to one of the rooms, announcing their presence as an important matter. A drowsy, unarmored, in-need-of-a-shave Cullen answered the door and Bevin suddenly understood the lingering and sneaky glances that Nichole would shoot him when she thought no-one else was watching. The man wasn't really her type, but she could still appreciate the view.

She snapped back to attention and spat out her words faster than Cullen could even greet them, “Vision! I had a vision concerning one of your men. He's potentially gravely unwell. Finding him now to be seen by the healer would be much better than what he'll go through later tomorrow.”

She was grateful that the Commander was a compassionate man for he also saw this as a potentially important matter instead of waving off the concern. The man rubbing tiredly at his eyes was suddenly much more awake. “ _Maker…_ Who? Do you know his name? Or a description?”

Bevin did her best to rather frantically describe the elf that she'd seen.

Cullen's face screwed up in concentration as he mentally went through his soldiers.

The scout hovering nearby hesitantly interrupted, “Sir? If I may – that sounds very much like Mihris, one of our elf recruits.”

“In which tent is he located?” the Commander asked with haste as they began moving forward, heading outside.

Shaking her head with a grimace, the scout responded, “I'm afraid I don't know that, but the head of the nightwatch would. I saw him down by the main gate.”

And that was right where they found him posted, thankfully. From there, they were lead out to the neat rows of tents to locate the one assigned to the elf they were looking for. The nightwatchman pointed out the one they wanted and stepped back to join the scout that had tagged along out of a mix of interest and concern.

Commander Cullen moved the flap of the tent aside and both he and Bevin leaned inside to wake the elf recruit, Mihris. Except he wasn't asleep. Even in the very dim light, Bevin could swear she could see his face flushing as he yelped and hastily removed his hand from under the blankets at his waist and jerked up to sit. Her eyes widened in realization.

She saw the Commander winding up to speak. “Maybe we should give him a moment, Commander?” she whispered to him as she turned away quickly. She could feel her own face heating at unintentionally catching someone doing something so private.

Cullen's brow furrowed as he looked down at her, “Pardon?”

She opted for grabbing his arm and bodily moving him a step back from the tent entrance. He was still looking to her expectantly. “He was…,” she lead on with a clearing of her throat while making a gesture towards her lap.

He stared at her blankly, but she saw the exact moment he figured out what she was trying to convey to him. His eyebrows shot up and his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck as he rocked back on his heels and averted his gaze from her.

A hand pushed the flap of the tent aside and the elf slowly stepped outside to join them, eyes darting around nervously from the abrupt intrusion. Bevin looked at his face closely, ensuring that this was the elf she needed to find.

Satisfied, she was quick to try to assuage whatever panic was bubbling up in his mind, “You're not in any trouble. Well…,” she stopped herself to correct the statement, “not _disciplinary._ ”

The Commander's voice was low next to her, trying to keep this as private as possible at the moment, “She had a vision.”

“Of what? _Me?_ ” Mihris brought up a hand to gesture towards himself, nerves fully awake in a fun bundle of panic, confusion, and surprise.

Searching for prudent questions, Bevin asked him, “Have you been feeling okay lately? Anything different or any odd aches or pains?”

He began to shake his head and looked about to affirm that all was well, before thinking better of it. “I've been having some sharp pains in my side, but I just thought they were from not being used to the new training yet.”

“You need to have the healers take a look at you,” she implored. “I dunno what you have, but we hopefully caught it early enough that something can be done about it.” She needed to get across to him that this warranted immediate attention, but didn't want him needlessly stressed since there was no real way to know how it would ultimately turn out. But that's how her visions worked, right? She was shown things early enough to change the outcome for the better.

The elf's mouth clicked closed and he shook his head as if to recollect himself. “I will…I will go now, then.” He walked a few hurried paces, then turned back around on his heel to walk back towards her. Grasping her hand, he bowed, “I have heard much of your abilities, Prophet. I have faith in them, in you. I thank you deeply for this.”

“Just tell them I sent you, I guess,” she smiled weakly at him, highly uncomfortable with the worship. He smiled widely in the moonlight and jogged off in the direction of the Chantry.

“Well, _I'm_ glad that this was mostly uneventful.” Cullen waved off a few inquiring heads poking out of tents. “I shall ensure that he is seen by one of the healers, so you may return to bed, Miss Bevin.”

She yawned and began making her way alongside Cullen back inside the Keep. They parted ways at the main gate and she walked towards her hut. From one of the windows she could see a few faint glowing light orbs. _Aww._ Had he stayed up to wait on her?

He was lounged across his bed reading when she made her way in rubbing at her eyes in exhaustion.

His head swung up, taking in her arrival, “How is everything?”

Bevin kicked off her loosely laced boots – they landed somewhere by her bed and desk – and began undoing the tie keeping her over robe in place. “Hopefully all taken care of. We'll find out come morning, I guess.” She tossed the robe haphazardly over her desk chair and sat down heavily on her bed, yawning deeply along with a stretch of her arms.

 _Gods_ , he was staring again. She didn't know if he just didn't realize how often he did it or if he thought she never noticed, or what. It usually meant the cogs were turning in his head.

She had just flopped back onto her bed, ready to snuggle back under the warm, soft furs, when he spoke, “Bevin?”

“Mmph?” she grunted in acknowledgment, face buried in her pillow.

“Would you mind if I had the chance to peruse the books you have upon your phone? I am afraid that further sleep is evading me for the time.” That gentle lilt to his speech always tickled her with new words.

 _Pffft_ , he took those leaf things whenever he had trouble sleeping. This was just an excuse to get his hands on her other-worldly books. She rolled her eyes and chuckled, sitting up and giving him a knowing look, “I'm frankly surprised it took you _this_ long to ask.” She couldn't help but giggle again as his ears began reddening, but reached under her pillow to retrieve her phone. It had to have been killing him inside not being able to sate his curiosity, but he could be so weirdly proper sometimes for someone normally so confrontational.

She walked the few steps across the room and bounced onto his bed next to where he sat. She was too tired to give much care to propriety at the moment. “You're not allowed to complain or judge based on what's in my library.”

He raised a brow, in part at her statement and in part at her sudden extreme proximity. “Typically, that is a fine criteria by which to judge a person.”

Bevin made a face at him and powered the phone on. “Many of the books on here I have _on here_ because they are either massive or I don't exactly want to be seen reading them in public. And whatever free or cheap crap I found around. I do have most of my personal favorites, though. And some of my academic stuff.”

He smirked, “I do not think that I could be so bold as to complain about the contents of your device's library. I will be but glad for the opportunity imparted to me.” Yeah, she just cast hope that he ignored the large collection of erotica she had and wouldn't otherwise bring it up.

She leaned into him more so that he could see the screen as she held it up. “Okay, passcode. You need to swipe your finger across the screen. This is the home page. Scroll left, press the book icon in the corner.” She then closed out of the reading app and locked her phone, handing it to him gently. “Your turn! If it ever does something weird or the passcode doesn't work or whatever, _tell me_.”

She had no doubt he'd catch on quickly, but there was a kind of fascination in watching the first person of this world navigate future technology for the first time. It was an odd thrill to think of herself as an alien falling to the planet bearing strange technology.

He was playing around with navigating the various buttons and functions of her phone, becoming increasingly engrossed in it. “How does such a device work?”

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “Lots of delicate connections and pieces sending signals to each other, but it may as well be magic with how little I know all that stuff.” Even as the words left her mouth, they didn't seem quite right anymore, though it took her a moment to place a finger on why. “Okay, that saying doesn't exactly work well when you _are_ a Mage, but you get the idea, ya?”

He 'hm'-ed in response. A look on his face that she couldn't quite read. “It is a pity that you are not more familiar with its inner workings. Everyone should be intimately acquainted with how their tools are put together and perform.”

Her lips pursed at the dig, “Do you weave and sew your own clothes? I have a vague idea of how it works and can do some trouble-shooting, but the itty bitty details were never something that I really had to concern myself over. If it broke or I needed a new one, there were places I could easily go to get it fixed and whatnot.”

“That is true,” he conceded, dropping the line of inquiry. “I believe I will be starting with your Harry Potter novels.”

That didn't surprise her in the slightest. “They're pretty quick reads.” She pointed him in the direction of the first book of the series, then hopped up from the bed to go snuggle into her own for the hours remaining of the night. “Have fun with that. G'night.”

“Goodnight, Bevin.”

 

* * *

 

 _Thwump._ _Chunk. Fkshhh._

Bevin walked forward to collect her knives from where they were sparking furiously, embedded into the trunk of an old charred tree.

Normally here in the early morning with Solas, she'd started coming out more often to practice and train alone. This clearing was close enough to the Keep that she could see the Gate and people could easily find her, but far enough that there was minimized danger from any wayward spells. Before her was her designated target tree, a bit removed from the others around. In her first few weeks she'd accidentally caught the poor thing on fire. More than once. It stood sturdy, but the upper branches, needles, and everything facing outward were slowing falling away from what had been burned to a weakened or non-existent state.

Between the fire blasts and lightning bolts, the ground here was becoming a scarred, blackened mess beneath the freshly fallen snow. Occasionally, the trees and ground would be heavy with slick ice left over from Solas' spells.

One of her latest projects, suggested to her by Leliana after the Nightingale shared a story about some apostates using magicked weapons channeled with mana, was enchanting her daggers and the new throwing knives she'd picked up from a vendor within the keep with money gained from running various errands and chores around Haven in her free time. Sera had been _all_ too happy to show her how to throw knives, though she wanted to make a game out of hitting various targets around Haven for points. Bevin wasn't comfortable trying to hit the hats off of peoples' heads, among _other_ escalations, and had quickly moved on to solo practice with trees.

In an effort to practice some of her new warding magic and glyphs, and make it easier to catch a ram that one of the cooks had requested, Bevin had tagged trees throughout the immediate area. So the presence slowly coming her way had been of little surprise as she continued practicing her spellwork, chaining electricity to the knives thrown scattered in the ground around her.

The Enchantress walked leisurely across the field, surveying the area. “Your casting could use a bit of work, darling,” Vivienne called.

“Where?” Bevin's curiosity was piqued enough to see if she had anything useful to impart.

The other woman huffed, “Where not.”

Her shoulders slumped in annoyance and she had to bite her tongue to keep her tone civil, “Well, how long have _you_ been training and studying magic and all?”

Vivienne made a show of slowly dragging her eyes over her form, appraising, and not happy with what she saw but wearing a tight-lipped smile. “By the looks of _you_ , probably longer than you've been alive.”

Bevin turned to fully face her fellow Mage. She crossed her arms and cocked a hip. “ _I_ am older than I look, and I've a whopping _three whole months_ under my belt. Under the circumstances, I'd say I'm doing pretty alright for myself.” She'd potentially be even further along if magic was the _only_ thing she'd had to learn in this world, as it was, she had much to study from all sides, forget everything _else_ going on.

“Ah, yes. One can forget that you come from a…magic-less world. You have made decent progress, but you've no direction. You're taking pointers from an _apostate,_ ” Vivienne spat the last word like a curse. But that first part was almost a compliment. She was doing fabulously if she was blending in and adapting _that_ well.

'Apostate' was hardly an insult or necessarily negative moniker to her. It was no boogeyman. Bevin herself was _technically_ an apostate, something that many here willfully overlooked while casting scorn and fear at Solas for the same. It was slowly getting better for him, though, as older residents spoke well of him to newcomers. It would probably have been better for him all around if he just kept his damn mouth shut about being an apostate, but it was something he quite prided himself on, so she didn't see that happening.

Vivienne paced around her, casting glances at the knives still embedded in the ground. Bevin wondered how she could walk the terrain in heels like that. “You need a stronger foundation, child. On which schools have you been working?”

“Primarily the School of Power. I'm pretty good with Storm and Fire. He's been showing me some basic Spirit and ward stuff, too.” She took pride in the work she was doing so far.

“Tempest, dear,” Vivienne corrected. “The Arts within the School of Power are Tempest, Storm, Winter, and Spirit.”

Bevin rolled her eyes, but thought of something she'd been wondering for awhile, “What about ground stuff? Nature magic and all that. I never see anything like that mentioned.”

Nodding, Vivienne began to explain while plucking up one of her knives to examine, “Those would lie within the School of Creation. A school that requires considerable finesse and is therefore rarely mastered. It is unsurprisingly left out of many beginner's regimens unless an aptitude has already been established. The Arts surrounding plant-based magic are almost strictly used by Elves, and even then, by only a few. Regretfully, they are quickly joining the ranks of lost Arts. But I'm sure your hobo elf would know more about such history than I.”

She didn't rise to the intended insult, though she felt the urge to defend the elf not present to do so himself. Her nose scrunched, “Oh. That's kinda hard to imagine considering how easy some of the other stuff comes to me. I suck at Ice – er, _Winter_ – though, so maybe not.” It didn't really make sense to her that people couldn't necessarily figure out magic that wasn't written or passed down. Maybe Circle Mages wouldn't attempt such a thing, what with their ridgedness and rules, but what of those who were self-taught? Then again, apostates didn't really seem to go down in books in any positive manner. She'd have to do as Vivienne said and speak to Solas on the matter.

“Your Nature lies within the Art of Storm. While you will have ease there, the Arts in opposition to Storm may prove more difficult as you are counter-Natured to them.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Most of what she'd seen and read previously in her world's fiction had fairly well structured elemental wheels and charts of strengths and weaknesses. “Does everyone have a Nature?”

Vivienne slowly strode away from Bevin while speaking, “Putting it simply, no, most do not. _You_ , for example, are very strongly Storm-Natured. Electricity positively _leeches_ into almost all of your magic. If you do not learn to properly control it and stabilize your magic, your performance _will_ suffer in the future. Other Mages may be weakly Natured towards some preference, typically to the detriment of another area, yet more have no particular inherent strengths or weaknesses.”

The gold flash of a glyph in front of her was all the warning Bevin had before the knife that Vivienne was holding shot towards her. She dove to the side, the knife nicking her bare arm as it flew past her.

“What the hell?” Bevin cried out shrilly. She examined the cut, finding it to be shallow, thankfully.

“You _must_ work on your reflexes, darling,” the Enchantress rolled her eyes, completely unmoved. “Your barrier is much more effective than physically dodging such attacks. Targeting glyphs are often all the warning one will get when under attack. Some, you will not be able to dodge or outrun.”

“How do I make a targeting glyph?” Bevin asked. She hadn't known that there was such a thing, but it made tons of sense for Mages in battle. It would certainly help solve her fears surrounding friendly-fire when out in the field.

Disgust colored Vivienne's face as she tutted, “Of all the things for that elf to neglect to teach you... This is why one needs _structure_ in learning.” She slowly drew the glyph for Bevin in the air where it floated shimmering in gold. “This particular glyph works by drawing your energy towards itself. Incredibly useful for casting defensive magic upon allies. Or for when one wishes to not hit them with fireballs meant for the enemy. I do not want to imagine how you have managed until now.”

Bevin's cheeks reddened and she shifted her feet in embarrassment. She walked a few feet away and carefully drew the glyph, sending it to her distant tree to test out. Swinging her staff around from its perch on her back, she let loose an energy blast targeted at the general area. Bevin watched impressed as her blast swerved course just slightly to hit on target. This would be _so_ helpful.

Bevin walked the area to pick up her knives embedded around in the ground. She didn't need Vivienne getting any other ideas involving throwing them at her again. She stuffed them into the pack belted at her side.

“At _least_ I can commend him for teaching you how to heal yourself.” Vivienne was looking at her arm.

Bevin glanced at her arm, rubbing her thumb along where the cut was. Or had been. The cut was completely gone. There wasn't even a scare left over. She tried not to let the alarm show on her face. Solas _hadn't_ taught her any healing magic yet, likely because he didn't know much about it – something he'd bemoaned in the past – and using healing potions often worked better and faster. Vivienne seemed to be assuming a learned healing skill, but Bevin was quite sure she didn't have that. It was probably linked to her weird magic somehow. Yay. In any other situation, she would have whooped for having an innate healing magic.

But if Vivienne thought something was strange, she'd get nosier into her powers – though who could _she_ kid? _That_ was why the Enchantress was out here in the first place. To figure out the girl with the power of future sight.

“Shield the tree,” Vivienne all but commanded.

Barriers anywhere but around herself were not something that she had really attempted yet. They also weren't something she projected, so this was all kinds of new. Bevin figured this was to tie in with learning the targeting magic, though, so she retargeted the tree with a glyph and concentrated on forming a barrier around _it_. It took her a few minutes to figure out how to expand it to envelope the _whole_ tree, but she was eventually satisfied.

“You could conserve energy by casting your shields directionally in opposition to incoming fire. The _tree_ will not move,” the Enchantress imparted.

Bevin nearly gasped at the very suggestion. “Gods, no! I quite like my hair, thanks. I d'wanna look like you guys.” Bevin scowled and shielded the locks piled on top of her head possessively.

“And what does _that_ have to do with your barriers?” Vivienne responded flatly.

“'Don't front-load your barriers!' got beaten into me early. And frankly Solas scares me more than you. He's not afraid to go for the hair and gets burny. Or frosty. Frozen hair's not fun, either.”

Vivienne shook her head in disbelief. “I shall have a chat with him about that. We can't have our Prophet potentially losing something so identifiable. Is that why some of the ends are so…frazzled?” she reached out to run some of the ends through her fingers to inspect with distaste. “I'll arrange for a trim. Your image is _everything_ , doll. You should be wearing it down more often. And perhaps some new clothes.”

Bevin pulled away and sneered, “Ugh. I don't want to be some porcelain doll paraded around.”

“One of the best defenses one can have is in being underestimated. One can appear delicate and demure while hiding strength and fierceness.” Was that not what she was doing? Maybe not to the extent that Madame de Fer would prefer. “Like it or not, you _are_ one of the faces of the Inquisition now. Capitalize on what you have.” She was referring to her short, slight frame and the eyes that were to big for her face. Doll-like. Everyone always called her _doll-like_. She didn't _want_ to be cute. She wanted to curse like a sailor and dress provocatively and be dangerous and hack her hair off and sex up whoever she wanted to. She loved her hair, but it was such a pain in the ass to take care of properly here, and it was always in the way and falling out from the ribbons and pins she used to try to tame it. She'd only had one hair band from her world and that had snapped quite some time ago. Her own _superior_ pins were starting to disappear.

They were trying to change her. Force her further into this role they had _all_ planned out. She played nice at first to keep her head low, but they wanted more and _more_. Meanwhile, Nichole was being brought up to be complementary – a warrior. _Fierce_. Hardened. She didn't _have_ to be the pretty one. She'd even cut her hair shorter the other day – which had _prompted_ the whole argument with herself and the advisers after expressing her intent to do the same.

Maybe if she just hadn't worn her cozy clothes to run to the store that fateful day. Maybe they should see what she had hidden _under_ her clothes. That'd change some minds. _Maybe_ she just had to be a bit slower at dodging someone's fireballs.

“And please consider removing some of that metal.” _Fu_ _uu_ _ck no._

 

* * *

 

The Inquisition was making plans for meeting with the leader of the Mage Rebellion. The advisers were hard at work making sure that everything would go as smooth as possible. The projected date for their departure to Redcliffe was within seven to nine days from now. Ravens were being sent off to the Templars as a contingency plan, but they'd yet to hear back from any.

They were far from making a hard decision on whether to go with an alliance with the Mages or the Templars, but they could at least see what the Grand Enchanter had to say.

Bevin returned to her hut after taking a shared supper with Nichole. “Oh, what's this?” she asked of Solas. There was a small carved statuette of a wolf sitting at the edge of her desk.

Solas looked up from his reading. “I believe it is meant to be a wolf totem. The elven soldier left it in thanks for your aid.”

She turned it over in her hands, admiring the finish. It was of smooth design, pretty in its simplicity. “A totem for what?”

“Many Dalish believe that leaving a wolf totem at the edge of their camps or near their domiciles will help to ward off Fen'Harel and any misfortune.”

Bevin smiled fondly, “I haven't read much of the elven lore, yet, but I can appreciate the sentiment.”

“Vivienne's poking her…stupid… _face_ around,” she said before noticing that Solas looked about to speak.

His eyes narrowed as his focus snapped back to her, distracted from whatever he'd been about to say, “How so?”

“Well, now she wants me training with her. Unhappy with my current routine and progress,” Bevin huffed. She sat down heavily in her chair.

He thought a few moments, resting his chin in his hand. “That may not be an _altogether_ terrible idea. She would have different strengths and insights to teach you.”

She _had_ taught her quite a few useful things already. But the training wasn't what made her uneasy and suspicious. “I think it's just an excuse to try to figure me out; to get closer. She wouldn't do something like this out of the sheer kindness of _her_ cold heart.”

Solas nodded in agreement, “Yes, this is troubling. Nor is she just _any_ Mage of whom to be wary. To achieve her station, one requires great skill and intelligence. She may be quite tenacious if she believes that something requires 'figuring out.'”

Bevin fought her nerves to start pacing, “So, what do I _do_? Turning her down would probably just look suspicious. And I don't need her poking around _more._ ”

He shook his head, “Unfortunately, you may be right. The best option may be to go with it for the time being, however, keep our Enchantress at a distance. She has far more power than the average Mage.” He gave her a pointed look.

Bevin blanched, reflexively rubbing at the crimson marks on her face. _That_ was the last thing was wanted to deal with again. Sneezing around Vivienne would give her an in to start unraveling the secrets Bevin was currently trying to keep. A by-the-rules Circle Mage was not the kind of person she wanted letting the cat out of the bag and freaking out over her.

“Loathe I am to leave you here alone following this new development, I must leave for the week to restock our supplies of various herbs before we make the journey to Redcliffe.” Way to give her a heads up. He walked to the trunk at the foot of his bed and pulled his traveling gear free.

“Oh, no!” Bevin feigned alarm, trying to lighten her mood. “Whatever shall I do all by my lonesome without Solas to keep me company?”

He paused his collecting of traveling items to look at her, “Continue your training and studies, I would hope.”

She rolled her eyes. Did he _know_ who he was talking to? Probably one of the few people who could almost reach his level of bookworminess. “Oh, come on. When have I _ever_ let you down?”

His eyes immediately flicked to the wall where there were pinpricks in the wood from her throwing knives.

Bevin pouted, “Poor judgment call, yes.”

He cracked a smile and continued his task, “I will leave in the morning.” Likely sneaking off before she even woke up. “No _fire_ in the hut,” he growled lowly as he passed her.

Bevin avoided looking at the faint scorch marks on the floor, biting her lip to avoid giggling. She couldn't help that when she read of something new, she wanted to immediately try it out! Good thing he'd been around.

“I shall renew some of the wards before I leave. They should last for the duration of my leave. I trust you are comfortable enough with setting heating glyphs?” From the beginning, Solas had been drawing glyphs around the hut to provide them with heat. Bevin had always thought it odd up until he told her of them that their hut was one of the warmest places she hung out in in Haven, even though they never lit the fire place. It had been the first glyph he had taught her after enough complaining of being cold while traveling.

“Mhmm,” she replied as she watched him work. He mostly seemed to be taking things out to clear space for what he had to collect. She guessed if he was going solo, he didn't need enough to support a group anyway.

Bevin unlaced and kicked off her boots and bounced over to her bed, choosing to lie down to watch him instead. “You'll miiiss me,” she stage whispered with a grin.

He flicked a wadded-up, dried out piece of leafy something-or-other from his pack at her.  It landed somewhere in her hair after she ducked.


	9. *Cartoons Make It Look So Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bevin gets naughty, and Solas has his mind so far in the gutter it's nearly drowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW scene, soloF. Neeever written sex stuff before, so let me know how it goes, and if you want to see anything in the future, or have any prompts, etc. Don't expect anything too raunchy right now. Gotta build it all up nice and pretty. ;) Also, it's been hinted at, but Bevin has piercings in _places,_ so if that's not your cup of tea or makes you squeamish, you may want to turn back (though I don't go into super extreme detail over them or anything, in my opinion) or just skip the solo stuff, it's fairly clear where it starts and ends. From here on out, NSFW chapters will be denoted with an asterisk (*) in the chapter navigation thingy up top.
> 
> And, okay, there's a looot of magic free-styling. But it's not like magic is super heavily detailed in the games. They certainly don't mention sex magic. xx

* * *

“ _You think it's wise to get involved with a mercenary group headed by a Qunari?”_

“ _I don't know! I don't even really know what a Qunari_ is _! But, I mean, if they're as great as they're bragging about, do we want them on our side or potentially hired_ against _us? Friends close, enemies closer kind of dealio?”_

“ _I don't think that's typically said of inviting foreign mercenaries_ into your ranks _who could turn as soon as someone offers them more gold than us.”_

 

And thus highlighted the main issues of the current War Chamber debate, which was being continued between Nichole and Bevin over lunch at the Haven tavern. Nichole had been approached on her way out of the Chantry earlier by some kind of representative for the aforementioned merc group named Cremisius Aclassi.

Bevin could easily see both sides of the debate, as could Nichole, though they fell tentatively on opposite sides. They needed the help, but at what potential cost? Their current agreed stance on any future alliances was simply that it probably wouldn't hurt to hear them out. At the moment, however, this was not their primary or even only concern. Redcliffe and the Mages came first. Leliana had also privately voiced concern over vanishing Grey Wardens with a plea to help rally investigations into the sighting of a Warden in the Hinterlands.

Though the issue had been waved off by the other advisers as not being at the top of the list of things to see to, Bevin knew that the Nightingale would not have brought this to them if she did not have compelling reason. She intended to speak further with Leliana on the matter in order to more mentally frame it in the scale of everything else going on.

Solas was to be gone for the better part of the week and Bevin was going to take _every_ advantage of it. While the cat was away, the mouse was going to play.

It was the perfect time to practice magic skills that she didn't really want him – and Vivienne – knowing about yet, if at all.

Though it was always a constant background process for her at minor levels, she was slowly learning how to intake more mana at her own discretion. Syphoning made her very aware of the energies that surrounded her. Not everyone and thing had mana, but everything living had a _life force_ energy. While she couldn't actively do anything with _it_ , when concentrating, she could feel it and connect the energies to various kinds of hosts. Picking apart individuals was still something to work on – like when pretending to meditate – but it currently worked in a general sense that many people kept to certain places and routines. Though she could do the same with mana and Mages, this new energy was more reliable as a tell since everyone and thing had it. Tracing mana was kind of the extra sparkle on top. It also gave her more practice since there was a very limited number of Mages in the area – she could already tell Vivienne and Solas apart by their very different, distinct mana signatures. With as familiar as she was getting with _his_ magic, she could probably tell it apart from that of most people.

It did not take her long to conclude that she was syphoning this excess life energy, as well. When focusing, she could see and feel the faint auras and energy shed by everything. There was a constant kind of pull in the air around herself. It, like mana, was weaker in some hosts and stronger in others, but everything had a kind of synchronous flow. It was trippy to stand out in the fields and see the energy gently rolling off the trees. It was a little stronger in the prancing nugs, and stronger yet in the practicing soldiers. Her poor practice tree had but wisps and fumes left.

Mana syphoning hadn't originally scared her or anything as it wasn't something she could easily draw parallels to, and most people had no mana, but she knew that people here would _flip_ _their shit_ if they knew she was drawing in life force energy. In her own world there were many fables and myths and rituals surrounding such actions. All were looked at as either being taboo or the user was some kind of monster or witch to be feared and killed for 'stealing' life. It wasn't like she could exactly _prove_ that she wasn't stealing it from others. But it also probably wasn't something that was exactly in the realm of common knowledge, either, so she would likely be safe for the time being.

She didn't know if it was down to paranoia or not, but she felt like this had more dire side effects than syphoning just mana. Nichole was sick off and on with colds and minor stomach bugs from adjusting to this world and the bacteria and all that. Bevin hadn't been sick or felt unwell once yet, even though she often wasn't in the best of health in her own world. The cut she'd received from Vivienne throwing a knife at her was the first time she'd noticed herself actively healing injuries within minutes, but upon further thought, other injuries sustained in the past had done much the same. There were times after battles that she could have sworn she'd received cuts and burns only to see that she was perfectly fine by the time healing potions and wound cleansing went around the group. The myths of her own world often stated that stealing life force energy was a way to, in the simplest cases, heal and cure oneself, but in the others, it was a way towards temporary to permanent _immortality_.

It wasn't really something she agonized over before, not having too many personal connections to it – her apartment had only personal affects, she didn't have any family, and her friends were grown people who could take care of themselves in the end – but she could _not_ go back to her world as an immortal. Those stupid vampire books made it sound easy, but immortality would cause her all kinds of problems and grief if it wasn't temporary. But she was already able to see that, if revealed, it would cause her problems here, as well.

She'd bring it up to Solas if she absolutely _had_ to, but otherwise she'd keep this all to herself. She still didn't know how far she could trust him. However, secrecy was what tended to brew distrust. If this got out to the others later and it was discovered that she _knew_ about it, the repercussions would be bad. She could pass off the healing, as that was a skill one could learn. Maybe she should learn how to heal others? Would she still age if she was immortal? If not, she looked younger than her age – which no-one knew precisely – anyway, so why would anyone hop to any weird conclusions after a few years? By then she could have better plans. So was this worth worrying about right now? Maybe so if she she suddenly got flung back to her world…

These thoughts made her head hurt and spin. Bevin pinched the bridge of her nose and looked down at her notes. She had long since switched to writing in a personal pidgin script of languages and shorthands that she knew – putting her second major of Linguistics and its required study of a bevy of languages to good use – knowing that others, especially a certain elf, the snoopy bastard, went through her notes fairly regularly when she wasn't around. Her study notes left minor crumbs for them for the sake of normalcy, but little revealing the jumbled mess of her thoughts that she kept in the separate pad. It would probably look sketchy to others, but no-one else would be able to make much, if any, of it out. If asked, she could play it off as having sensitive theories concerning her visions or inter-realm traveling or something.

Bevin closed the pad, shoving it down between the crevice of the wall and her bed, and dumped the ink and quill on the desk before falling face down on her bed.

She rolled over and held her hands up in front of her, pulling mana into her figure tips. Solas had said that, for the most part – barring glyphs, minor applications, and a few arts – using magic without a conduit like a staff or wand or other item was incredibly difficult, if not impossible for some. But Bevin was determined that she would never be defenseless should she lose her weapons.

She recalled some of the various exercises that various novice book and movie characters went through and decided she'd try some of those. Having a good source to start on was always given as the best way to begin.

She eyed the candles. Fire probably wasn't the best place to start, lest she burn the whole hut down. And Solas had already warned her against practicing fire magic indoors. Masses of electricity were also probably not a good thing to practice indoors. But a flask of water was nearby. Water magic, along with Ice, was not her forte, but okay. _Attempt to waterbend it is._

Bevin picked up the cup and wedged it between her legs in her lap. She stared at the water wishing she'd paid better attention to the mechanics in the show. The basic gist of it was pushing and pulling, right? All flowy-like.

She took in a deep breath and focused her inner Katara, willing the water to move along with the gentle back and forth motion of her hands. She felt kind of stupid doing this, but tried to ignore it as that was a rather common feeling _anytime_ she was doing anything new here.

Bevin thought she saw the water move, but wrote it off as her jerking about like an idiot. After a couple more minutes, though, she saw that it wasn't as much of a fluke as she thought it had been: the water _was_ just barely following her movements, making little waves.

This made her squeal and giggle giddily and the water sloshed around the cup. It took her a few moments to calm back down and wait for the water to do the same.

She switched to an upwards pulling motion, wanting to see if she could get anything to rise. There were tight ripples forming in the cup. Bevin stopped to move to the floor where she could put the flask on a sturdier surface to remove any guesswork in whether or not the water was moving as a product of magic or of her thighs moving the cup.

Going back to her previous motions, since they seemed to have some kind of progress, she was beginning to feel like this was a workout. For the little she as doing, it took an awful lot of concentration. But everyone had to start somewhere. Even Katara sucked at it for several episodes.

It felt like hours trickled by before she was picking up small blobs of water high enough that she'd get splashed whenever they fell back into the flask again.

Once all of the water was in various spots on the floor and her person, Bevin put the cup flask on the desk and gave up for the time being. She would have to make more water to try again, or struggle trying to pick it all up from the floor, but that sounded exhausting right now.

She landed on her bed again, head hitting the pillow as she stared at the ceiling. Anything else she could think to do wasn't really appropriate to do inside. She closed her eyes and her mind began to wander.

More and more often she found it going straight to the gutter. She chalked this up to just being hornier than normal with no real outlet. Quite a few of the scouts and recruits were more than a _little_ attractive. She'd often try to take care of it herself, but it was hard to get the time and privacy to even attempt it. Bevin often found herself missing her vibrator of all things. It would give that extra 'oomph' to get off faster. A little bullet of magic.

Huh. _Magic_.

This hadn't actually occurred to her until now. There was no reason she _couldn't_ use it for such a thing, right? She'd have to get creative, though. She didn't know any “orgasm” spells, and she'd probably get a whole new level of The Look of Disapproval if she asked Solas. Though _Vivienne_ was currently in this weird role where she was trying to be _overly_ helpful…despite frequent scoffs at her lack of abilities. All that high society _had_ to have weird Magey kinks. Not what Solas had in mind when he said she'd have insights he didn't. _Hrm_.

Bevin bit her lip in excitement. The sun was beginning to set, so she didn't think anyone was going to come looking for her for anything now. She'd already snagged some fruit to eat for her supper whenever she felt like it.

She hopped up and locked the door, pulling the few open curtains closed along the way. Quickly stripping off her dress and leggings, they joined her mantle thrown every which way over her desk chair. Her cautious nature made her pull out her wrap-around robe for just in case someone came pounding on her door in the middle of the night. It wasn't unheard of, but they were usually looking for Solas.

Bevin threw herself on her bed and let out a soft groan. It felt so nice to be able to feel all of the blankets and furs on her bare skin. This was another thing she missed, not really wanting to sleep naked with such another feet away in the same room. Well, she wouldn't personally mind it too much, but their roommate rapport was too good to potentially mess up over something so minor.

Flipping over onto her back, she got herself comfortable. She stared at the ceiling trying to come up with an idea to try. Bringing her hands up to her face, she moved mana to her fingers where it manifested in its usual violet glow. She could make her hands heat up, which kinda felt nice, but she didn't have enough grasp on Ice as an element to want to try _that_. Maybe some glyphs? Seeing the small sparks fall from her fingers gave her another idea, though. Electricity _was_ her specialty.

Bevin placed her fingers on her stomach, figuring it was the safest place to test this, and drew up a tiny surge of electricity until she could feel it tingling against her skin. It wasn't enough to shock, but enough to cause a pleasant tingling effect that she could slightly control the intensity of. Kind of like putting your hand on one of those electric static balls.

She ran her fingers up and down, closing her eyes, tipping her head back, and getting in the feel of it. She had to fight her excitement to rush to the more exciting bits. She had the night, she'd enjoy this. And make sure she had it down before going to more _sensitive_ areas.

One hand drew up to the opposite breast and ran gently along the underside to her sternum and back again, then followed the pattern on the other breast. Her fingers teased a path around her nipple and on up her her collar, stroking past the tiny metal disks of the bar embedded there and falling back down between her breasts.

Her other hand slowly drew a ring around the turquoise gem at her navel before coming up to mimic the first's lead.

For several minutes she continued on like this, falling into a light trance under the pleasant and oddly relaxing sensation. Her fingers circled closer and closer to the rosy nipples hardening at each peak before pulling back and starting the path over.

She didn't have the self control to tease herself endlessly. When her fingers finally brushed against where she currently wanted them, she bit back a gasp and her legs came up to rub and press her knees together in attempt relieve the pressure building elsewhere. Her back arched to press herself further into the sensation. She could feel her skin heating and her breath quickening to her ministrations, heart loud in her ears.

What was once gentle caresses of her flesh, turned into heavy kneading and groping as she lost herself to the sensations rocking her body.

Impatient, her hand slid down, past short auburn curls, to brush her fingers along that oh-so-sensitive spot. Her breath hitched at even that light touch, and her hand jerked away reflexively at the intensity. Trying something new after so long without any stimulation or release was maybe not the best idea, but she was too far gone now to want to stop. 'Turning off' the magic in the tips of that hand, she trailed her palm up from her inner thigh to her knee and back again to build herself back up.

Fingers quickly found their way back to her clit, dancing up to rub along its hood and nudging the titanium secreted there. Centering the pad of her finger right above the lower ball of the bar, she began rubbing in wide, gentle circles.

Her teeth bit her lip to hush airy moans, even though she knew in the back of her mind that there was really no need to.

Diverting away, she ran her fingers down, feeling the wetness pooling and spreading from her core. Two fingers dipped through the slickness to find the heat and her toes curled in anticipation. She pushed in, feeling her walls embrace them tightly. Her palm rubbing against her clit, she started a short thrusting rhythm, dragging her fingers tightly along her upper wall to dig into that spot just _barely_ within her reach.

Breath coming in harsh pants, it wasn't long before she was screwing her eyes tight at the waves of pleasure rolling over her, building her quickly towards that precipice.

Her second hand had long left to grasp at the furs beside her head.

She pulled her fingers from herself, returning them to her clit to rub frantically as she climbed ever higher.

When her climax finally came, light burst brightly behind her eyelids, her mouth dropping in a silent cry as her body arched stiffly from the bed.

Her hand slowed, movements becoming more stilted and languid as she came back down off the high.

She wiped her fingers on her thigh, determining that she'd go shower in the morning. For several long minutes she did nothing but bask in the after-trembles of her orgasm.

Drained of her energy, Bevin rolled gracelessly onto her stomach and tried to pull out enough of one of the furs under her to cover most of herself for the night. She'd definitely be doing this again while she had the chance. Maybe she could wrangle one of those cute scouts to her bed.

Her eyes fell onto the chair whereupon a certain elf did most of his own studies. She grinned to herself, feeling the urge to be particularly naughty next time. It wasn't like he'd ever know.

She wouldn't touch his bed, though. Bevin considered them to be sacred personal areas.

 

* * *

 

The woman was becoming _more_ of a distraction. Case in point, she was lying across her bed, nose deep in a book, fiery curls twisting loosely down her back and spilling onto the bedding around her waist, wearing what could only be mutilated leggings hacked off at her upper thighs, paired with a blouse that hung loosely off her shoulders. Lips set in that pout she often wore when focused. Her bare feet and legs swinging lazily about behind her. There was a hint of ink on her back glimpsing through strands of hair, above where her blouse dipped low. He'd read the same page at least three times between finding himself blatantly staring at her.

He had hoped that a few days away from Haven would help him to better rein in these distractions, to once again look upon everything objectively, to stay on track with his goals. Chasing down leads about her peculiar brand of magic within the Fade hadn't exactly brought him any relief from thoughts of her. Mythal's whereabouts within the Fade were now unknown to him, nor had she responded to any summons, so he had no-one else off whom to sound his thoughts about any of this.

He'd never _really_ denied to himself that she was attractive – for awhile it had been 'for a human,' then justified as 'because she's different,' leading to 'she already plays a role in my plans' – and it was becoming a trial of his self control to not act on it. Especially when he had returned to their shared hut and caught the faint scent of her arousal still lingering in the air. He'd had to temporarily leave when he'd discovered what she'd evidently done in his chair. It still made him grit his teeth as he looked at it from where he lie on his bed, trying harder than he should need to collect himself.

What would it be like to move their relationship beyond their twisted version of student and mentor?

To be able to freely trace the freckles that dotted down her shoulders and arms and across the bridge of her nose. Feel the power that radiated from the ever so sensitive drops of crimson that curved boldly below her wide, mint-hued eyes. Thread his fingers through her silken locks. He secretly took joy in being one of the only few to see her when she wore her hair down – he was equally happy in being one of the reasons she now so often wore it plaited and pinned up. He did enjoy the sight of her slender neck. He wanted to run his hands up those legs and squeeze the round ass that was barely hidden under what wasn't covering much better than her smallclothes. Pin her where she lie and drag his teeth along her neck until she she moaned and writhed under him, begging him to touch her. Finding _other_ uses for that smart mouth of hers. He wondered if she flushed as deeply in the throes of passion as she did when flustered.

He was staring again. To focus himself, he made a comment about how her attire would be seen as quite scandalous to anyone beyond the confines of their abode.

Bevin scoffed. “I don't wear these out, and you're the one who came back two days early,” she kept her eyes glued to her book the whole time. “You're lucky I'm wearing pants at all.” She turned a page. A certain part of him said that he'd only be lucky if she _weren't_.

“If you are too warm, I can dispel some of the heating glyphs,” he offered. Frankly, it'd do _him_ some good. The heat seemed to be going to his head. Among places.

“No, I just don't like pants. And these would be perfectly drab attire in my world.” He couldn't say he'd be doing too much objecting at this point if she just up and decided to not wear them. “If I still lived alone, I probably wouldn't be wearing much of anything right now.” She scribbled in her notes.

Sometimes it was hard to tell what was her just babbling and what was meant to get a rise out of him. Statements like _that_ got his mind playing “What If?”: 'What if you had returned _just_ a bit earlier? Early enough that she wouldn't have been decent? Early enough that she'd still be touching herself?' 'What if you just pounced on her right now? Would she squeal or gasp?' 'What if-' He shook the thoughts out of his mind before it became too obvious where they were headed.

Then the “Why Not?”s began. He found that his reasonings and objections were becoming weaker by the day as his mind began working to find ways around the obstacles and objections. She was no elf, but she was not a human as he knew them. He couldn't offer her much in the way of love – he couldn't afford to – but that did not seem to be a priority for her from conversations he'd listened in on. From the looks of it, she was much more concerned about satisfying more immediate needs. A more physical relationship could help solidify that bond he needed to ensure that her powers remained to his advantage. A romantic relationship would garner the best results, but he couldn't risk what reciprocation could do to him – his focus, his execution of plans, his goals – and playing with such emotions in another was an incredibly low thing to do. But he'd do what was in the best interest of his goals if dire actions were required.

There was a growing concern. She was intelligent enough to know better than to share everything with him and others, putting a slight knock in his plans as it was clear that she was becoming _more_ secretive and selective with time and developments. In the grand scheme of everything, he took some solace in still easily being the closest one to her.

As often as he teased and admonished her for trying to make facets of this world and its magic fit to the rules and roles of that of _fiction_ in her own, he quite admired and envied her ability to form working connections between the two. Some of her theories _were_ truly fascinating – she particularly liked to entertain the notion that their worlds somehow shared a dreamscape – and with the acquired ability to read some of her sources, he had to give her credit that the coincidences were too uncanny to dismiss. He didn't have to do more than _mention_ the topic of elemental and various art effects of strengths and weaknesses before she was reciting many of them with few errors. She mentioned something called Pokémon and then explained what video games were and how they depicted magic.

Given their current relationship, he was unsure if she even saw him as a potential…affair. This was not something he had ever really had much need to contemplate in the, admittedly distant, past. He knew enough that approaching her now would very probably result in rejection and future wariness. The stunt she pulled with his chair likely meant nothing beyond being a personal joke, as there was little way she knew of his enhanced senses. He would have to take his time carefully steering interactions and better shaping her perception of him. He created this persona from the mildest facets of himself, so it was of no surprise that she largely saw him the way he wanted people to see him. He was the temperate apostate. Though he was able to slip back bits when alone with her, so she saw more than others. Perhaps it was time to channel back some of the old wolf.

Her gifted magic still remained very much a mystery. His trip into the Fade had yielded absolutely nothing of use to him. He wondered if she was making any progress surrounding her syphoning and visionary skills. Would she tell him if she had? She often did additional training alone now, he would be disappointed if she _didn't_ explore new possibilities without his lead.

Solas blinked. Focusing his gaze, he saw the same page that he'd been on for the past several minutes. At least he wasn't staring at her slender fingers as they turned pages and drummed across the edge of the book, or the gentle slope of her– _f_ _enedhis_.

He dragged his eyes back down and his previous thoughts returned in a flurry as he decided they were at least safer than staring at Bevin and no actual reading was to be accomplished this night.

Possibly as a by-product of her constant mana intake, she seemed to have gained some sort of minor self-healing ability, though, as with much concerning her, he knew not of its extent. Did she even know of it, yet? He had thought that her head wound sustained from the explosion at the Conclave had healed abnormally fast. She certainly should not have been up on her feet as quickly as she had been. There didn't even seem to be any trace of scarring from such an injury. More recently, he had seen her take hits in battle that she later insisted needed no dressing. Her arms bore no marks of her trials.

Solas was not sure how to feel about her research into finding a way back to her world. He understood doing so as a means to understand the nature of the phenomenon lest something more diabolical try to make its way to her world – possibly _again_ , as she and the Herald had arrived here somehow, after all. Was she expecting to return there? Did she _want_ to go back? That seemed at odds with how she lived her life here – brightly, enthusiastically, embracingly. She was adapting very well to her new life. Bevin never spoke explicitly of returning, and he wondered if her research was but in favor to the Herald, who often spoke longingly of the family and friends she had left behind. Either way, he would find a way to solidify her hold here.

This left the issue that she was potentially seeing someone now, if the cycling rumors were to be believed. He wasn't sure that he even believed it, but it made him uneasy to think that she could begin turning to another.

How to bring this up delicately? “I hear you have a new beau.”

“What?” she pulled a bemused face, looking up from her reading for the first time.

“A suitor-” Solas began to clarify.

Bevin scoffed and narrowed her eyes, “No, _no_ , I know what 'beau' means – _who_ am I supposedly seeing?”

He closed his eyes, tapping his chin, to summon forth an image of the recruit. “I have not caught a name. Outgoing lad with shrewd eyes. Hair of sand. Has a scar along the jaw.” Bevin's lip curled back in a sneer of apparent recognition.

Sighing heavily, tinged with no small amount of peeved exasperation, she said, “Of course. I never bothered with a name, either. But he's a little shit. I turned him _down_ two days ago.” She growled lowly, “Stupid boys who can't take 'no' for an answer. Let's just _tell_ everyone we're together, and maybe I'll just roll over and go with it. Briiilliant plan, fuckwit.”

“Would you like me to speak with him?” he offered. One less problem for him.

“No,” a conspiratorial smile was slowly spreading across her face as her eyes lost focus over her book, “I can deal with the asshat.”

He left it at that and they both went back to their respective reading, though Bevin seemed to have her thoughts elsewhere now as her eyes frequently lifted to watch spots on the wall.

He happened to look up from his renewed attempt at reading awhile later – he had just begun on the second book to her Harry Potter series, but was realizing he'd have to ask Bevin to explain a few things that he lacked proper context for – to find that she had fallen asleep on top of her book and notes again. Solas sighed and stood, giving a stretch and setting Bevin's phone down on his bed.

At least she hadn't started drooling yet. He gently lift the book and papers out from under her, skimming where she'd left off on glyphs. Bevin was further along than he'd realized. Her notes outlined ideas for their various uses along with some practice scrawlings. She had some…interesting thoughts on combinations. He picked up her quill from where it had fallen on the floor – she'd had the foresight to put the pot of ink up on her windowsill – and added his own thoughts and corrections to some of them. Most notably a large 'DO NOT' next to a grouping of glyphs that would only end explosively if activated. He briefly wondered why the word 'eggs' was underlined at the bottom of the page. The next page was bafflingly made up entirely of lists of foods and herbs. Recipes? Always food on her mind.

With as much heat as he could feel coming off her bed now that he was standing over it, she'd undoubtedly put an unseen fire glyph or two somewhere in or under it. _That_ explained the sudden lack of clothing layers. He upkept fire glyphs around their hut for heat, but he preferred a cooler atmosphere than she did, so she often wrapped herself in furs and blankets.

A soft breeze ruffled her bangs causing a slight confusion in him since the windows were closed, but a glance to the direction of the source revealed a faintly glowing pairing of an ice and wind glyph drawn delicately on the wall. Certainly customizing her living quarters to her tastes. He was happy that she was easily finding applications for magic beyond battle on her own.

Pulling furs over her and rolling his eyes at her feet pushing back into her pillows at the head of the bed, he looked about for more glyphs. An active, but dying ice glyph on her water flask to keep the contents cool. Along the window above her bed, she'd paired his alarm glyphs with her own. Flipping over her robe's mantle from where it hung off the back of her nearby desk chair, he could make out an inactive fire glyph where he had previously been drawing them daily for her. The slightest glint from the corner of his eye drew his attention downward to the wooden floor.

A series of entwining glyphs, just barely visible, ran neatly across the center of the room, dividing their claimed halves. The same repeated on the walls and ceiling. Interest piqued and unsure of what he was seeing, he knelt down to better examine the ones on the floor. The glyphs detailed very particular containment magic, a kind of barrier. She was controlling her self-made atmosphere, keeping the heat trapped. He appreciated her consideration. But this was awfully advanced glyphwork for where he had thought she was in her studies. Perhaps Madame Vivienne had shown her some specific ones. There was plenty of evidence that she was a quick study, though, so he shouldn't discount her abilities.

He would have to see what else she had learned while he was away in the morning. He had given thought to cutting back their training sessions, but with her picking up tutelage from Madame Vivienne and taking her solo work seriously, it was the best opportunity he had to keep tabs on the growth of her skills.

He'd woken the next morning to find her missing from her bed. Bevin was _never_ up before him and often fought against the early morning training. So this was a tad alarming.

She was quickly found meditating outside the hut, seated upon the stone wall. This raised a brow. He was _not_ rubbing off on her this much.

He decided to join her for now and question her later.

The last person he had expected to approach them was the Nightingale. Bevin looked up at her expectantly.

Leliana looked past them to the main gate. “It is done. He will ship out first thing for our outpost in the Fallow Mire.”

Bevin let out a low whistle and a grin spread across her face, “I just wanted him gone; that is perfectly _horrid_!”

There was a smile pulling at the lips of the Spymaster, “Hopefully the rumors will cease with his departure. Do see me again if you are still having trouble with them.” And at that, she turned on her heel and left to see to other duties.

He had not realized that the two were getting close, though it should not surprise him so. This was an interesting development. At least the problem had been dealt with. His respect rose for the Nightingale. She did not pull punches.

Bevin must have noticed his interest, “Both Nichole and I have spoken to Cullen regarding some of the inappropriate behaviors among the recruits. He seems to be a bit too soft, however. I know he's spoken to them, but words don't tend to work on _this_ type of moron. Thought I'd go to someone who'd be more empathetic. I _almost_ feel sorry for the idiot.”

So this ran deeper than just one upstart fool. Others were making their interests in the women known. Though he often felt like he had a monopoly on Bevin's time, he knew she was fairly active in certain areas around Haven. The Herald was beginning to find places to settle herself and seemed to be involving herself more in the workings of the town. They'd get increasing amounts of attention as the Inquisition's presence and reputation spread. “And this required waking early?”

She nodded. “Well, yeah, we talk most evenings anymore,” that gave him pause, “but it's hard to find her during the day and I wanted this taken care of as soon as possible since we're planning to head out in the next day or two. Didn't want to risk this festering while we are gone.”

“I did not know you were so close with Sister Leliana.” He'd always been wary of the Nightingale, but she'd previously kept a distance. Always watching, but mostly from afar. Her scouts had trailed him for quite some ways before he deemed the time appropriate to step into the Fade. He did, after all, need to gather the herbs he had said he would, lest he arouse suspicions. Between her and Vivienne he'd have to tread lightly.

Bevin shrugged. “Eh. I don't agree with some of what she says, but her stories are good. Since I had the extra time this week, she started teaching me some cyphers and codes and…raven handling.”

Areas she'd likely take up easily, given her other interests. He chuckled, “Apprehensive around the ravens?”

“Well, ravens were kinda scary enough as is – _amazingly_ cool birds – but scary. Super smart birds. And then the ones here are even scarier with their red eyes and crests,” she held her hands up in a mimicry of the features. “Always envied birds, though. They can fly.” He could almost feel the impending inquiry. “Can Mages learn to fly?” _Ah-ha._

He couldn't help but smile, “That is not something that I have ever heard of anyone accomplishing, but I find that I must increasingly suspend my beliefs concerning magic and _you_ , so I am keen to say that it is probably not out of the realm of possibilities.”

“That'll be one of my goals, then. I'mma fly like Goku!” She enthusiastically spread her arms, as though a bird's wings.

“Is that a kind of bird? A falcon perhaps?” He realized, as the words were leaving his mouth even, that he was almost certainly wrong.

Her head fell back in laughter, “Probably more graceful, but no, he's a, uh, character.” Of course. Why did he not see _that_ coming?

He shook his head, “I wish you luck in your endeavor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Fenedhis" - treated as a general curse, lit. 'wolf's dick'; Elvhen


	10. Let’s Do the Time Warp Again!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s astounding, time is fleeting. Madness takes its toll.” - The Time Warp - The Rocky Horror Picture Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not an easy chapter. At all. Note: I've altered/built on the layout of the Redcliffe castle, so it's not identical to the in-game map.
> 
> It had been my intention originally to not go into dark stuff, or at least not into detail. Buuut that's evidently happening (pardoning the silly chapter title, I couldn’t help that). So, just to warn, this is rated E, now for more than one reason. The events at Redcliffe were fairly dark in the game, though because you get thrown ahead in time, you miss most of it and you’re back quickly. There'll be fluff and humor again, soon, though. Just probably not a whole lot until Skyhold is in play. The next chapter will hopefully make up a little for that with some more plot bunnies and some fluff(-ish, maybe stretching that term), buuut it's also looking like it'll get a whole lot worse before it gets better. Many apologies to those who were looking for a nice fluffy story. This and the next were written as one chapter at first, but I’ve broken it down to add more to 11 without everything being overwhelming. xx

* * *

“Fuck.   _Fuck_.  Fucking, fuck.  What just happened?”  Nichole staggered to her feet from her position thrown into sludge.  It was dark here, lit dimly by the radiance of giant red rock spires jutting from the floor and walls around her.  Alexius wasn't here.  This wasn't the throne room where she'd just been standing confronting him.  That green wormhole thing had _done_ something.

 _Fuck_ magic.

Dorian was a few feet from her attempting to brush off the gross goop from his clothing.  He seemed more disgusted by the sight of his dirty robes than alarmed by their new situation.

She should have listened to Cullen and gone with the Templars.

“Well, I believe-” Dorian was cut off from his answer as two armed guards came rushing through the gated stairwell before them.

Though their helmets covered their faces, their shock at seeing them was evident from how they jumped.  “Blood of the Elder One, where’d they come from?” one exclaimed before they both drew their swords and charged them.

A blast from Dorian struck one back while Nichole drew her sword against the incoming blade from the second.  No-one was moving fast in this knee-high water, but the heavy armored guards were especially ill-suited for this, thank God.

Nichole and Dorian used this to their advantage, doing what they could to knock their opponents prone – while avoiding it themselves – dispatching them in their struggles to regain their footing.  The Mage grappled with his opponent, holding him under until all movement ceased.  A swift spell ensured that he was done in for good.  Nichole opted for the quicker option of driving her sword downward through the neck of the guard under her.  Blood stained the water around her along with wherever it managed to contact her attire.

Nichole trudged over to the gate where the stairs rose out of the grimy water.  She sheathed her blade and tried to squeeze out as much water as she could from the clothing under her armor and boots, hating the feel of everything and trying not to get overwhelmed with all that was happening.  “So, you were saying?” she prompted of Dorian.  She wiped a hand along the side of her face, unwittingly streaking her face and catching strands of hair in blood from her glove.  Now that she was out of the water, a clammy chill was setting in brought on by the less than hospitable atmosphere of the basement-esque area.

Dorian had followed her and was wringing out what he could of his robes.  “Ah, yes.  This is probably not what Alexius intended when he used that magic.  We've been displaced.  The rift must have moved us towards the closest source of arcane energy.”

“So, where are we?  Is this still the castle?  Because that's the last thing I remember.”  Nichole looked around, trying to figure out if the architecture matched what little she paid attention to earlier.

Dorian’s brow furrowed as he looked about, “I don't think it _is_ 'where,' but 'when.'  Alexius used the amulet as a focus – it moved us through time.”

“How is that even possible?”  Though magic made little sense to her, she almost felt silly saying such a thing when it was clear that such extreme kinds of magic existed – she was living proof!

His eyebrows rose in agreement, “ _That_ is an excellent question!  We'll have to find out, won't we?”  He gestured ahead of them up the stairs, “Let's have a look around and see where the rift has taken us.  Than we can figure out how to get back.  If we can.”

“And what if we can't get back?”  She didn’t want to hear the answer that was coming.

“Then we get comfortable in our new present.”  By his tone, he didn’t seem to happy about it, either, but it wasn’t showing in his demeanor.

Nichole slumped, rubbing her palms against the familiar ache blossoming through the left, “Great.  Doing this all over again.  Once was bad enough.”

“Ah, that's right!  It's hard to tell what is fact and what is merely rumor and speculation surrounding the Inquisition, but I did hear that you are supposedly not of this world – dropped from the sky, some say.  It was one of the more farfetched things out there, so I was rather skeptical.”

The gears in her head cranked out an idea, “But if we figure out a way back to our time, that could help us figure out how to get back to our world, too, right?”  Could it be that easy?  The magic was used to get them here, albeit not purposefully, so something similar could work to get them back home, right?

“I'm afraid that I cannot say.  There may be some potential there, yes.”  He sounded like he wanted to keep her spirits up for now, at least, so there was little telling what he actually thought about all this.

“Okay, so, we should find Alexius and try to use the amulet thing to get us back.  Would any of the others have been dragged through like us?  And are just somewhere else around here?”

The Mage shook his head, “I am doubtful.  Alexius would not have chanced a rift so large that he risked catching himself or Felix in it.  The others are probably still where and when we left them.  In some sense, anyway.”

“Lovely, let's see what we can find.”  They both began up the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible, lest they attract more unwanted attention from guards.  The last thing they needed was the whole place alerted to their presence.  There was no way just the two of them would be able to survive a swarm of prepared guards.  They’d have to move quickly, though.  There was no telling when or if others would come down this way.

Dorian had some knowledge of the castle, but he wasn’t nearly as familiar with these lower passages and dungeons as he was with the upper levels.  The whole place was in an awful state of disrepair.  What Nichole would swear was slime coated much of the stone walls.  Mold and mushrooms and other fungi were plentiful, as was that creepy red rock everywhere.

An eerie silence filled the halls, broken by the occasional drip-drip-dripping of water.  Some halls had sconces aflame to light the way, but more often than not, they had to find their way by the light given off by the red rock spires - Dorian didn’t want to attract attention or expend valuable mana with unnecessary magic.  Every once in awhile they’d hug the walls and duck behind empty supply crates at the sound of armored footfalls and muffled voices from unknown locations.  Some supply crates were not empty, though Nichole wished they were.  It was so wet down here, everything was rotting and molding and the stench in many places was nauseating.  Nichole could feel the sweat dripping down her neck and back under her armor.  It was humid, but a chill hung in the air.

It felt like they were getting nowhere in this labyrinth of halls.  Nichole wasn't even really sure what they were looking for, or what they might find.  Many rooms had floors and equipment smeared with red stains.  Some looked old, but a frightful many were fresh.  Chains held up long dead corpses and skeletons in the odd cell, left forgotten by uncaring guards.  They didn’t look long or close enough to determine if they belonged to anyone they knew.

Nichole jumped and dove reflexively behind an open wood door when echoes of a man’s pain-filled screams reached them.  It sounded distant and a twisting guilt knotted her stomach as she realised that it was better that they avoid trouble for now.  She and Dorian alone could not afford to waste precious energy.

Choking back the bile threatening to push forth from her throat, they moved on to the next room of the hall.  This one was made up of more barred cells, no guards in sight, but there was an occupant here, held in the furthest cell back on the right.

Searching for familiar features, Nichole crept closer as silently as she could so as not to alert someone who’d potentially raise an much unwanted ruckus.  The silhouette was sitting shadowed, so it was difficult for Nichole to get a good look at them.  The captive was mumbling what sounded to be a prayer, and Nichole immediately recognized the voice, cracked and dry though it was.

When she was close, the woman’s face jerked upright.  “Who’s there?” she called out,

“Cassandra?” she whispered, hoping that the Seeker was of sound mind and sensibilities to be of help and not blow their cover.  There was no telling what had been done to her in whatever amount of time had passed.  Nichole walked closer.

For a time, the woman just stared, wide-eyed and mouth agape.  “Maker…  Can it be?  I saw you die!” she exclaimed, still in shock.  “And yet, you’ve returned to us.  Has Andraste given us another chance?”  Cassandra went on to berate herself - probably not for the first time - for having failed her and everyone else.

Ignoring the Seeker’s babbling, Nichole took notice of her state.  Her eyes glowed an eerie red and crimsoned veins webbed across her paled, sickly complexion. “Cassandra, you look awful.  What happened to you?”

Cassandra shook her head and stood, “Nothing that can be helped now.  I will be with the Maker soon.”

Dorian stepped forward to join them.  “Alexius sent us forward in time.  If we find him, we may be able to return to our present.”

Cassandra stepped forward on uneasy feet.  Nichole didn’t know how long she’d been here, but she looked visibly thinned and gaunt - not the muscled warrior she had only just left behind.  “You mean to go back in time?  You can make it so that none of this ever took place?”

Nichole nodded, “If Dorian can reverse the spell, then yes.”

Frowning, Cassandra spoke, “Alexius is not the only one you will have to deal with.  He has a master.  After you died-”

“We didn’t die!” Nichole interrupted.

“We could not stop the Elder One from rising.”  Cassandra shook her head in sorrow.  “Empress Celene was murdered.  The army that swept through the lands afterwards - it was a horde of demons.  Nothing stopped them.   _Nothing_.”

Nichole reassured her that they would do whatever they could to prevent these events from happening again once they returned.

Since they now had a weaponless Cassandra in tow, they doubled back to where Nichole last thought she’d seen a usable weapon.  On the way, the Seeker informed her that there may still be others being held here, among them Leliana and Bevin, not needing to detail that the reason they wouldn’t be would be due to their possible deaths.

Nichole wanted as many people to fight the Magister as possible.  Alexius had a year to gain power, and who knows what _kind_ of powers, so they were already at a severe disadvantage.  She hadn't seen much of the skills of the Nightingale firsthand, but the woman had a ruthless reputation so they had to find her if at all possible.

Cassandra followed behind her closely.  As they checked rooms, the Seeker spoke, “The guards often speak of a girl with 'creepy eyes.'  I have always assumed that they meant Our Prophet.  She should still be down here, as well.  But I warn you, from what I have heard, she may not be…in any condition to help.”

Nichole's heart jumped to her throat, afraid of what she might come across down here.  She had a sinking feeling that Cassandra was putting her words lightly in hopes that Bevin wasn't as bad off as she knew.

Enchantress Fiona was found in one of the most alarming states, yet.  Within her cell, it was hard to tell where the red lyrium ended and where Fiona began.  She was able to fill them in on some more details, but otherwise would not be able to help.  They couldn’t do anything but reassure her that they would fix this before leaving her and moving on.

Seeing the cells overgrown with red lyrium now created a new pit in her stomach with the knowledge that a person could have once stood there and had been condemned further to such a cruel fate.

By Dorian’s estimate, there wasn’t, or at least shouldn’t be, much more left of the castle depths to check.  More than once they found themselves slinking down halls already visited or thought to have been passed already.  They dispatched guards where they could do so silently, hopefully chipping away at the number they’d have to ultimately deal with to get through Alexius.

Nichole didn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected to find Solas here.  He looked to be in marginally better condition than Cassandra, but even he was infected with that red glow.  He stood with his arms braced limply through through the bars of his cell, forehead resting against the chilled metal.

His eyes remained closed at their entrance, but opened when she called out to him.  Standing properly, surprise was fleeting on his face.  He didn’t expect to see them, least of all her, but that mind was undoubtedly well past the shock and working out the implications.

“You are alive,” he stated calmly as they worked to open the cell door.

“The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time.  We just got here, so to speak,” Dorian explained.  If not for the gravity of the situation, Nichole may have found humor in the fact that Solas was probably the first to be able to fully understand those words.  Dorian looked thankful that he wouldn’t have to go into details again.

The elf spoke earnestly, “Can you reverse the process?  You could return and obviate the events of the last year.  It may not be too late…”

Dorian nodded in confirmation, “I think so.  We must get to Alexius first, however.”

“I’m glad you understand all of this.  Can’t say I have much idea what’s going on,” Nichole admitted.

Solas smiled brokenly, “You would think such understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes.  You would be wrong.”  His shoulders slumped, like there was a great weight upon him that was threatening to crush him underneath.  “This world is an abomination.  It must never come to pass.”

“I have filled them in on what has happened,” Cassandra turned to say from where she stood lookout at the door.

“Is Bevin here?” Nichole asked, wanting some kind of confirmation for whether her fellow outworlder was here or even still alive.

He passed a hand over his head, suddenly looking despondent and unable to meet her eye.  “She is near.  As is the Sister Nightingale.”  He was certain of their location, but his sudden change in demeanor gave Nichole pause.  The elf nodded towards a door on the opposite side of the room, “Beyond the pass, through there.”

It _would_ be one of the last rooms they’d checked searching for the two women when they finally barged into the dungeon.  This one was quite a bit larger than the others she’d seen and outfitted with cells and various kinds of torture and medical equipment.  At the center, Leliana hung limp by her wrists from binds leading to a winch at the ceiling.

Upon their unceremonious entrance, the lone guard standing before Leliana let the taunt fall from his lips to spin on them.  Striking like a cobra, Leliana sprung to life hooking her legs tightly around the guard’s neck until she had the leverage to snap it.

Despite what Nichole had just witnessed her do, the Sister looked like death.  Her skin was withered and dry, with strange blotches in patches.  Her eyes held a cold desertedness – as though she'd long since lost the desire to live, lending to a kind of ruthlessness that one gains only when they've nothing left to lose.  Her clothes were in tatters down her corpse-thin body.  She looked like she'd blow away or fall to dust in the slightest of gusts.  Rivers of blood ran down her arms from inflicted slashes and wounds to drip onto the floor below her.

Nichole and Cassandra ran forward to release her from the cuffs holding her up.

“You’re alive after all!” Leliana breathed, rubbing her reddened and scarred wrists as she looked over Nichole.

“You’re safe now,” Nichole smiled.

Leliana made a sound of disgust. her face remaining cold, “You need to do better than _‘safe._ ’  You need to end this.”  She determinedly walking over to what had looked to be an empty cell from this angle.  The Sister gave a half-hearted jerk to the locked bars before stepping back and driving her heel into it in an action filled with such aggression that it caused half the group to jump.

Solas was quick to her side while the others followed more trepidatiously, unsure of what they might see there within.

They came forth bracing up a figure that Nichole hardly recognized but for the stark crimson marks still resting high on her cheeks.  She had a hand clenching at the front of Solas’ tunic, her whole figure beyond gaunt and starved.  Her hair had been chopped short and uneven to her head, further lending to how skeletal she now looked.  The grimy rags that hung off of her may have once been clothes that fit, though they could more likely just be random swaths of cloth tied about her form.

When she finally looked up - well, that wasn’t really an appropriate term - Nichole unconsciously took an uneasy step back.  Angry, raised scars covered and bubbled over her face where her eyes and brows should have been.

“Jesus Christ…  What did they do to you?” Nichole choked out.  Then she really looked at the woman.  Nose broken and scarred over.  One ear missing, chunks of the other gone.  Whole fingers were cut from her right hand.  She favored her left leg.  There were areas where it looked like her flesh had been carved from her body; places where she’d been cut open and crudely stitched back together.  Brandings of some odd symbol resided in haphazard places.  Her breathing was labored.  It was probably a miracle that she was even _alive_ , much less looking as healed over as she was.

“Nikki…”  Blue wisps of magic gathered to her face and she turned her head to Nichole.  “It’s best to not think on that.  I am not long for this world.”  That was probably one of the few mercies that could be afforded to Bevin right now.  Nichole was anxious - to get this over with and back to the present, and with mental prayers that they could even achieve that.

When Bevin shivered, which was almost easy to miss given how shaky she was on her feet, Nichole only then noticed just how cold it was in this room.  It wasn’t warm by any stretch in the rest of the lower castle, but she could see her breath here.  And, unlike the rest of the halls so overgrown that certain areas were difficult to pass, this dungeon was completely devoid of red lyrium.

“There’s no lyrium in here, but it’s all over everywhere else.  Is that on purpose?”  Nichole asked while she began stripping the dead guard of any usable clothing to fight off the chill and better protect Bevin and Leliana.

Bevin’s head tilted, moving side to side, somehow taking in the room.  Her voice came light and airy, trailing off in places where she seemed almost distracted, “It was...discovered that Leli and I have...something in the way of immunity to blight sickness.  They decided that we...were not to be afflicted while they could still get something...out of us.  They’ve always thought that I was hiding some knowledge of... _it_ from them.  When I wouldn’t help them, they tried to destroy my sight...and the torture escalated.”  She was oddly calm through all of this.  No outbursts like the others.  Maybe just resigned to it all.

“You should conserve your energy,” Solas spoke softly to Bevin.

Nichole watched as the magic flickering across her face died out.  She handed her the guard’s tunic and Bevin scrunched her nose up at the smell, but concedingly jerked it over her head with a little help.

Dorian stepped forward, looking closer, curiously at Bevin.  “Tried?  You can still see?   Or do you mean you are still visited by visions?”

She nodded, “I have the ability of both.”

“Even ignoring the, evidently _failed_ , marks of tranquility, that is quite the miracle given the damage they’ve done.  You truly are blessed by Andraste herself,” Dorian finished on a note of awe.

Bevin chuckled softly at that and probably would have been rolling her eyes if she could.  Even now, how she couldn’t believe in some kind of divine intervention or blessing, was beyond Nichole.

There was a table nearby filled with papers that had now gained Dorian’s attention.  He began shifting through them rapidly, setting some aside and carelessly throwing others to the floor.  Nichole decided to join him, but kept an ear on the hushed conversation happening behind her.

Cassandra and Leliana were confirming together what they knew of the layout of the upper part of the castle and any strategies they may need going forward.  Solas and Bevin were having some sort of very close heart to heart.

“I must apologize, Bevin.  We were far too careless, too harried in our botched attempt to rescue you and the others here.  It broke me hearing what they did to you these past months, and to know that it went on for far longer…  If only I had my strength.”

“I’m just glad that there’s an end in sight.  Not the one we wanted, but we’ll finally be able to let go.”

Nichole looked over her shoulder at them.  They were embraced tightly, her head tucked under his jaw while he rest his cheek and nose in her mess of hair.  Their faces were turned away, but their voices were full of sadness.

They were saying goodbye.  Her heart became heavy as the writing on the papers in her fingers became blurred.  She hastily blinked away the tears forming in her eyes and tried to steady her breathing, needing to at least _feel_ like she was in control and being strong and knew what to do, even when none of that was true.  Nichole was intruding on their moment, while some selfish part of her was feeling like she deserved to be there because she was about to lose who she’d come to see as her friends - no matter that they were going back to where those very people would still be standing - to blades and demons, and they were _praying_ for death to finally take them.  She didn’t know why she felt so guilty - this was all Alexius’ fault, after all.

She wanted to turn around and hug them all and bawl her eyes out for the sacrifices they had made and were making.

“Are you sure that you are of strength to fight?” she heard Solas ask.  Nichole didn’t think Bevin would sit this out unless she thought she’d do more to hinder than help.

“I have little choice.  If anything, I shall be but another body buffering them from the ensuing onslaught.”  How morbid.  Bevin continued on in a lilting language that Nichole couldn’t identify let alone understand.  “ _I will take over for her, friend.  I have little power, but enough to sustain us for at least part of the fight._ ”

 _“These are not the circumstances under which I had hoped we would meet again,”_ he despaired.  Elvish?  Nichole had never really paid attention to Solas’ words before.  But when did Bevin learn it?  Nichole was under the impression that she’d been here for most of the year that had past.

_“All the more important it is that they succeed in this endeavor.  We may have failed here, but a brighter future is still possible.”_

The others eventually joined her and Dorian at the table.  Nichole had little idea what she was reading, but he had deemed much of it too important to leave behind, doing his best to filter out what was pointless from what could have a need in their time.

Dorian looked up to Leliana as she approached them.  “You aren’t curious how we got here?”

Leliana crossed her arms and shook her head, “No.  Bevin foresaw your arrival.”

“I lost fingers for that one.”  Bevin waved her hand with a lopsided grin.

The Sister explained further, “We knew you were coming, just not when.  It gave us some hope of an end.”

“Well, it should all be over soon,” Nichole said as Dorian began jamming stacks of papers into her pack since he had little way to carry them.

“Right, once we reverse Alexius’ spell, none of this will have ever happened.”  Those were the wrong words to say, and Nichole couldn’t help but cringe as she heard them.  But there probably weren’t many right things to say right now.

Leliana scowled darkly at him.  “But it did happen.  These are our lives.  It was not a game, not _pretend_ , what we,” she gestured to the others, then to Bevin, “what _she_ went through.  The whole world suffered.  It was real.”  She pursed her lips holding back a series of coughs and took a few steps back.  Nichole watched the Sister shake her head, refusing to be seen as weak.  “And you Mages wonder why people fear magic,” she grumbled.

Leliana looked around to who had been gathered.  “Do you have weapons?” she was walking towards a chest that Nichole hadn’t seen when they entered.  She threw it open and began rifling through the contents.

“We do,” Nichole gestured to part of the group.  “I think Solas and Bevin are the only ones without still.”

“He’s in luck,” she said, tossing back a battered looking staff.  “That’s the only staff, however.”

He caught it and turned it over in his hands.  He didn’t look pleased with the quality or some feature, but understood there wasn’t much room to be choosy.  “It will suffice.”

Bevin must have felt Leliana’s inquiring gaze, “Short blades will do, but I can probably work with anything.”  Nichole’s brow furrowed.  Outside of some light sparring with Cassandra, she’d never seen Bevin use blades in battle.  She didn’t even think the woman was comfortable with anything other than her eerie looking staff.  She wasn’t going to ask questions now, though, if the other woman was really insisting on fighting.  Nichole watched as the Sister gently handed Bevin a pair of short swords, taking a mismatched pair for herself.

Cassandra began outlining what she thought would be their best plan for attack.  “We’ve determined that Alexius is most likely in his chambers.  We should avoid what fights we can on our way there, then barricade what we can of the room where we will ultimately be fighting him.”

“Unless much has changed, I should be able to navigate us better on the upper floors," Dorian supplied. “I will keep us to more out of the way paths where possible.  I do remember where his chambers _should_ be.  Let us hope he is there.”

“You must return to your time before the Elder One is alerted to your presence here,” Leliana implored.

“Focus on Alexius, and we will hold back what comes.”  Bevin punctuated her words, “Do not worry about what may happen to us.”  The others nodded in agreement.

They began filtering out of the dungeon to start working their way towards Alexius once and for all.

Solas snagged her arm to hold her back a step from the rest.  He was very close, whispering in her ear, “Be _very_ wary of what you choose to impart to those of your time.  While there are matters of importance, there are things that they may not yet be ready to know, especially within those papers.  That includes my past self.  I trust that you will tell the Tevinter Mage to hold his tongue, as well.”  The elf didn’t give her any time to respond before he was moving past her to walk aside and guide Bevin, who looked to be only using her magic sight thing selectively for the time being.

Bevin made a weird comment about how the red lyrium felt “hangry.”

Everything was going fairly smoothly, dispatching the few patrolling guards left of the lower levels silently, until they finally breached the surface.  They’d come to what looked to be the great hall - and a whole mess of guards.  They didn’t know of or find any other way to avoid them, so they would have to cut through the lot.  At least the element of surprise was on their side this round.

They split into two groups to take on either side of the room, hoping to contain the fighting and finish quickly before anyone was alerted by the inevitable noise.  She had Solas and Bevin at her back as they took on the south side of the hall.

Nichole was able to take one guard down off the bat as she ran forth in the beginning chaos and slammed her blade through the open half of his helmet, passing it through his neck or skull with her momentum.  With a kick, she shoved him off her sword and spun on her heel to meet the next enemy.

Around her sprung up the tingle of Bevin’s barrier.  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a fleeing guard become frozen in a pillar of ice before shattering at the impact of a thrown dagger.

She met the blade of a guard with her own and pushed to drive him back.  She felt the heat at her side as the other guard was taking incoming fire from her allies.  Nichole ducked and allowed the barrier to take an overhand strike.  She swept at the guard’s feet in attempt to unbalance him, then used his stumble to regain his footing to push him into the line of fire from someone’s spell.

The guard screamed in pain, but didn’t go down.  Before he could step forward to re-engage her, a blade flew at him to impale his side through the opening of his armor.  Electricity struck him, then arched towards the barrier around her.  Nichole reflexively drew her arms up in guard, still not used to this particular magic of Bevin’s, and watched through her fingers as it arched again to light up the other guard in battle with them.

The one she’d been fighting spasmed as blood spewed from his mouth.  The dagger in his side glowed violet and jerked free of him as if on some sort of invisible line.  He fell forward dead within seconds, blood pooling around him, and the blade flew back to Bevin.  The barrier around Nichole shattered and faded.

More of Bevin’s body was glowing with that ethereal blue magic stuff, but it died down as soon as she was clear of immediate danger.  She then leaned heavily on Solas’ arm for support.  Whatever she was doing helped her a ton in battle, but also took its toll further on her weakened form.

They took the time to identify where they’d be heading next while the other group took down the last guard on their side.  They then all regrouped and made haste moving on once it was clear no-one was injured enough to warrant medical attention.

These upper floors were just as much of a maze as the lower ones.  With the red lyrium and more locked doors blocking whole passages, they found themselves needing to backtrack and take roundabout halls and go completely out of their way as they worked their way up the floors.

At one point, it seemed like they’d never reach Alexius as they ended up being lead back down two floors, through some creepy garden-courtyard - Holy Mother of, that was the Breach? - then across an even creepier grotto, just to find a way back up on the other side of this stupid lyrium where they’d pretty much started.

Odd parts of the floors were made up of whole areas with rail-less catwalks, freefalls, and drawbridges.  Prompting an outburst from Bevin after a battle that required so much extra care to not fall off the sides to their deaths, especially for the one needing magic sight to navigate, “Who the fuck designs a castle like this?”  Well, as far as paranoia went, this was probably quite the internal defense - that is, if you knew there were intruders.  Nichole felt she needed the laugh, even if it wasn’t wholly appropriate.  It was comforting to know that Bevin hadn’t changed much on the inside.

When they finally reached what was thought to be the room they were looking for, they were met with a giant metal door that required some odd key.  Nichole was nearly of a mind to try prying the thing from the surrounding stone wall with her fingers.  Her left hand was itching and pulsing, telling her that there was likely a rift beyond here.

Dorian ran his hand along the inscribed door towering over them.  “Well, I can say that, if anywhere, this is probably where Alexius has holed himself up.  This mechanism looks as though it should fit with those corded fragments we picked off of those guards and servants.”  Dorian began digging through his pockets, much to Nichole’s relief and disbelief.  At least one of them had some foresight.

He ‘ah-ha’-d and held up the fragments, fitting the pieces together into the lock.  Before he could try activating it, Nichole warned the group of the likely Fade rift somewhere beyond the door.

The Alexius they were met with was not at all what she had expected.  He was resigned, nearly repentant at what he had done.  Nichole, though highly skeptical, felt as though he’d merely _give_ them the damn amulet just to be done with this.  But of course, that would have been far too easy.  Couldn’t have that.

She would have strangled Leliana for her stupid actions, seizing Alexius’ son and slitting his throat in front of him, if there had been any time to do so.  She had to settle for letting out a yell of exasperation and preparing for battle with who knows what.

The group fell in with their plan, the others reshut the giant door and took on the few surrounding guards filing in from the shadows while she and Dorian concentrated on Alexius.

Which was seethingly difficult to do since he could apparently freaking teleport.  Then, as soon as she got a good strike in that went unparried by his staff, a Fade rift was summoned.

Solas yelled across the room at her to remind her to focus on Alexius instead of the new swarm of demons.  Hard to do when there are way more demons than allies.

She and Dorian hacked and slashed and burned their way through the demons blocking their path from a fleeing Alexius.  At some point, Nichole felt that familiar barrier magic envelope her, but gave it no thought as she fell into her pattern of striking through it and pulling back to let it take hits to give her openings.

Nichole closed one rift just to have another open right as they seemed to have corned Alexius.  This time, he chose to stay in the fray of the fight instead of fleeing to the outskirts of the room for her to chase him.  This made it all the more difficult to concentrate on attacking him since she now had to dodge the wayward attacks from demons.

Right as she was closing the second rift was when Alexius finally fell to an attack of opportunity as he came too close to the range of someone’s blade.

Dorian was at his side in the next instant turning the Magister’s robes out for the amulet that caused this whole mess.  It glinted in the light as he held it up.

“Oh, Alexius,” Dorian lamented, “He wanted to die, didn’t he?”

“This Alexius was too far gone, but the one from our time might still be reasoned with,” Nichole tried to suggest helpfully.

“I hope that is true.  This is the same amulet that he used before.  I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous,” the Mage explained.

“You made this thing?” Nichole exclaimed angrily.

“Well, yes, but it’s a good thing,” he insisted.  “I should be able to work out the spell to open the rift to get us back within an hour!”

Leliana intervened, “An hour?  That’s impossible!  You must go now!”

That was when they heard it.  The screech that couldn’t possibly be made by any living creature.  It shook the very foundation of the ground they stood on.

“The Elder One,” Solas said solemnly.

“He’s here.  Demons will be with him,” Cassandra said from beside her.

The future-group shared a look.  Bevin spoke up, her voice oddly clear and lilting, the magic flowing across her once more, “Our lives are yours.  We will buy you as much time as we can.”

They didn’t give her or Dorian any chance to stop them as they were quick to reopen the door and seal it once more behind them.  Leliana was the only one to stay behind, steadying herself and blades in hand.

Dorian grabbed her arm, pulling them as far away as possible while he began to work out the needed spell to send them back.

The whole castle was now under constant shock and trembled beneath them as the walls looks ready to come crashing down at any moment.  The giant door held solidly to several barrages from the other side.

Nichole began to panic that they wouldn’t succeed when the door started creaking violently under the stress of whatever was trying to force it open.

She had never been so scared as when that door finally gave way in a loud crash of metal against stone.  The entire room beyond was filled with demons and whole walls had come down with the ceiling.  The beasts were coming straight for them, affected little by the slashes and blows that Leliana was delivering left and right.

Dorian had to pull her back when she caught sight of her friends’ limp, lifeless bodies being torn apart ruthlessly.  Her breaths came harsh in her throat as she bit back a sob.  One was still dragging Cassandra behind itself as it entered the room until it tossed her aside like the woman was weightless garbage.

The sudden light that surrounded them was almost too late, but it could not have been more welcome.

Nichole shook, eyes clenched tight and praying hard that they were finally back in their time.  Once her breathing steadied, she could hear words being spoken and she opened her eyes to peer through her hands.

Alexius was standing before them, a look of disbelief and defeat on his face.

Nichole did what any rational person would do after such a stressful event caused by the man: she walked up and punched him square in the face.

She then numbly went through the motions of dealing with whatever noble this was now in front of them and dealing with the rebel Mages.

Nichole barely noticed herself walking out of the now busy castle as she found an out of the way spot to finally collapse in a heap to let it all finally wash over her.  The tears now allowed on her face brought relief and it felt as though a big weight had fallen from her shoulders.

God, she needed a nap.

And a shower.


	11. *I'm Sick of the Time Warp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visions of a thwarted future that continues to take its toll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will get a bit graphic -hence marking it NSFW in the chapter pulldown - so y’all have been warned. If you’ve read the last chapter (which I recommend - it’s kind of odd to jump in at Ch.11, but whatever floats your boat), you can probably guess how within the first few paragraphs (or last chapter’s comment section). If you’d like an easy way to skip the really graphic parts of the scene, but get all the hurt/comfort fluff, you can head on over to FF where I have uploaded a content edited version: fanfiction. net/s/ 11715830/11/Some-Assembly-Required
> 
> As a notice, don’t take everything that is portrayed through someone’s POV at face value. Part of the fun of having multiple POVs is getting to see how everyone is lying to one another, right, wrong, jumping to conclusions, plotting, succeeding, and failing. 
> 
> And reeeally sorry for the wait, but...life. xx
> 
> Additional Chapter Tags: Hurt/Comfort; Graphic depictions of violence and torture

 

* * *

He was pulled from sleep by the sound of nearby screaming.

It had taken over a day for Bevin to awaken after the events at Redcliffe. Alexius' temporal magic had somehow affected her, as well. She hadn't been pulled through the time rift, as with the Herald and the Tevinter Magister, but she'd collapsed as soon as it had appeared.

Ever since, she was visited by frequent visions that left her restless and exhausted, but she refused to give details to those witnessing, passing them off as irrelevant or not helpful to anything. While he had voiced concern, with her stubbornness - a trait that had in equal turns filled him with pride just as it aggravated him - and his frustrating lack of knowledge surrounding her peculiar magic, there was little he could do.

This was the first time she had begun screaming during one.

Solas threw up a sound barrier and rushed stumbling to her side – the last thing he wanted right now was people pounding on the door and jumping to wild conclusions and _getting in the way_. Her eyes were wide and unseeing under the effects of the magic glowing across her face as she thrashed about in a panic. He called out to her, hoping to somehow get through to her. Afraid she would hurt herself, he grabbed for her flailing wrists to restrain her movements. He was met with resistance as she shoved and clawed against him, his actions melding with those of whatever aggressor she was Seeing. Solas bit back a curse as electricity surged painfully along his skin from her powers rising up defensively.

He called her name again as the wisps of magic died from her eyes. The thrashing settled, but sobs began wrenching through her body as she shook violently. Though curling in on herself, she was pliant as he maneuvered them so that she was now gathered in his arms resting against him on the bed. His hand smoothed up and down her back and arm as he muttered nonsense to soothe her.

His other hand reached up to pull the corner of the curtain above them aside. It was still the middle of the night. Solas sank down into the bed, wanting to be comfortable if he was resigning himself to the position. He sent a few orbs of light up into the air to better see her.

He was half certain that, as she calmed and her mind cleared, Bevin would pull away from him, ever needing to put on a strong facade. As the sobs were reduced to sniffles and her eyes fluttered to clear away the last of the tears, he found instead that she continued to cling to him. One hand was tangled in the front of his tunic, the other tracing threads down his sleeve.

Part of him ached seeing her so vulnerable and scared. It troubled him greatly that he did not know what was happening or how to fix this. He did not know how to protect her.

He would give her time to speak on her own. Though she was mulish, he did not need to remind her that he would do what he could to help, potentially without her blessing.

Bevin was following the lines and planes of his hand with her own. Feeling the areas of rough, built up callouses from the years of staff wielding and working with his hands. Her fingers and palms, so small held up against his own, were devoid of such roughness. Still soft and smooth, the only marks were the freckles that dotted plentifully across her pale flesh.

When he had imagined becoming more physical with her, this was far from how he had in mind. Though if he were a lesser man, or his past, reckless self of questionable moral compass, he would utilize the opportunity presented to take advantage of her vulnerability. He was _not_ that man.

But he was _a_ man who took notice of the way her shirt was pulled forward from her position. The warmth that seeped to him through her clothing. The expanse of pale legs past the clothing she had called "shorts." The toes curling against his calf. The hip nestled against his groin in a manner that suddenly necessitated thinking of the most unappealing things he could imagine.

And he could still be content in how she had not flung herself away from his touch at the first chance. This was progress, of a nature. He would potentially have to prevent it from becoming one step forward and two steps backward, however, once this had passed.

As the orbs of light began fading and just as he found himself being lured into the soft lull of sleep, she spoke, "They're of Redcliffe. The other timeline that passed after Nikki disappeared." He frowned, but let her continue speaking while she was willing. "Temporal magic doesn't play nice with my magic, so I was one of the first captured. Which they loved because, 'Oh, yay! Girl who can see the future is now in our possession!' But I'm a shitty captive and don't play well with others." She breathed a laugh at some internal joke, and he 'hm-ed' in acknowledgement as he turned her words over in his mind.

Over the past week, he had wondered over her reaction to the Time rift. Perhaps her magic was of a related sort. That would make sense of how she was now Seeing events from the altered timeline. The very fact alone that Alexius had had some modicum of control over time leant credence towards the theory of Bevin's magic also being a form of temporal magic.

She was silent for a time, and he held his tongue of any questions for the moment as he felt she would continue. Instead, he found his fingers playing through the lengths of her hair, frazzled from sleep and her recent lack of care from exhaustion.

"At first it was 'starve her out' and 'beat her around a little.' Things I could take. Not be too rattled by when coming back here, to reality." Her anxious fingers found their way to fondle the corded jawbone resting on his chest. "But then they started draining blood and cutting away skin. After awhile, you can kind of go numb to it until they introduce a new...stimulus. I know they did worse, but I've been lucky enough to not directly witness it, yet."

"What of what you saw tonight?" It was a natural progression in their conversation, but he regretted asking so soon as he felt her shiver and become uncomfortable in remembrance of the recent vision.

He felt her swallow before she took a steadying breath. "I've met the Tranquil here and know the general gist of the Rite. It seemed kind of, I dunno, brutal? And I didn't really get why someone would willingly undergo such a thing." Solas frowned, already knowing where her words were heading from the very pointed topic.

The Rite of Tranquility was a ritual advocated by the Chantry for use on Mages as punishment and as a permanent means to prevent possession. It worked by severing a Mage's connection to the Veil, but it had a plethora of side effects. "The Rite itself has no little amount of secrecy surrounding it. The Chantry argues that it is the best path for those who are weak-willed in order to save them from potential demonic possession. Some Tranquil have given accounts that it is 'not pleasant' to undergo the Rite, though their rationality may not exactly permit them to regret it."

"'Not pleasant!'" Bevin exclaimed with a harsh laugh, pushing up to sit up on her knees and turning to face him. "You don't know the half of it. Death may have been the kinder option." Her eyes drifted off as she recounted her vision, nose scrunching with each detail spoken as though trying to rid her mouth of something particularly foul, "The brand burning into your flesh. The sudden rending of your very soul from its connection to the Veil. The coldness that sets into your bones deeper with each word of the Rite spoken. The fog that comes over your mind. The emptiness. It's not a fate I'd wish on anyone. Maybe it's different for those who… _embracingly_ choose it, but they wouldn't have much to say about it after anyway. If they knew what they were really in for, many more would probably take their chances with possession."

He couldn't help but scowl and be ever more thankful that this other future had been thwarted. It was perhaps a cruel trick of fate for it to still be inflicted upon Bevin in such a painful manner, but maybe there was still some good that could be drawn from it once the pain was not so fresh in her memory. Firsthand knowledge of the Rite could go quite a ways towards abolishing its practice for good or even finding the means to reverse the process.

She rubbed a palm past her eye and shook her head in attempt to dispel the exhaustion. "In the vision, something went wrong with the Rite, I think, but that's where it cut out, so I don't know what."

"How do you know that something went wrong?" Important questions though these were, he found himself mentally trying to impress upon her his desire that she lie back down. It was working about as well as one could expect. He wanted to smack himself for the shame of it all. He had more self-control than a damned adolescent boy!

Brow furrowed in thought, she replied, "There was yelling. I was so caught up in everything else that I don't remember what was being said, though. They were...very suddenly upset, angry, after practically being so giddy I thought they'd start giggling like school girls. All but _threw_ me back in that stupid cell."

The Herald had described enough of what she had seen through the Time rift to make it clear to him that the ritual Bevin was describing had not taken hold as intended. Though what did it mean? Was it a separate phenomenon or part of the ever expanding puzzle that comprised Bevin? Was it important enough to warrant extra attention? Another piece to research.

"Was the Rite completed? Or had something disrupted it?" he asked.

She shrugged, shaking her head, "No idea. I don't know enough about it to say if they actually completed it or not and, like I said, I wasn't really able to pay that close of attention once it was underway."

"Do you think that it is on your part or theirs that the Rite did not work as intended?" He saw the situation going either way or potentially both were at play. Given the uniqueness of Bevin's powers, they may not have been prepared to account for everything.

She gave a tired smile, "You say that like I know much more than you do about my powers. But I honestly couldn't say. Most guards were dumb as bricks from what I've Seen, but the doctor never struck me as incompetent, just cruel."

Another notion was now nagging the back of his mind. How had she survived all of this to able to provide any assistance on their way out? Perhaps this doctor had been doing enough to keep her alive through the torture. Or he was underestimating her healing abilities.

"Do you think that your powers, the visions, are drawn from a similar kind of magic as that of Alexius?" he asked, hoping to draw her into safer, lighter topics. He now believed so, but wondered if she had drawn a similar conclusion from what she had experienced.

Her head tilted and she crossed her arms in thought, watching the orbs float above them. "If it's a kind of time magic, that would make sense. I may not be physically moving from the present, but maybe it's a kind of mental projection to a future self."

"Your visions are only of things that _you_ will see and experience, then?" his brow raised at that, something he had been wondering since the beginning of all of this. If that held true, there was no possibility that she would be able to witness events from the relevant past, relieving him of some pressure.

He caught a passing reaction, a souring to her lips - this was something she had not meant to reveal or confirm to him - before she clarified how she experienced the visions, with a hint of resignation, "They are from my perspective. Or the ones I've seen so far are. Other people are doing things, but I've never, for example, Seen something from Cassandra's point of view."

They lapsed into silence again. Bevin sank against the wall beside them with a yawn.

"Scoot over," she demanded of him, nudging his knee with her own. He couldn't help it, the smile pulling at his lips. Even in the dim light he caught the glint of her rolling her eyes, though he acquiesced happily enough. She dug out a blanket enough to shroud herself before wriggling in next to him to curl into his arm and side.

He was perfectly content to remain lying atop her mound of blankets, the fire glyphs heating her bed to an almost uncomfortable degree. He assuaged the guilt he felt over enjoying this contact by promising that he would find a way to end these new visions she was having.

"Solas?" she mumbled.

"Mm?" he cracked an eye at her.

There was sleepy gratitude in her voice, "Thanks for this. You're a great friend."

"Sleep, Bevin," he bid, hoping she would go the rest of the night without being visited by visions or plagued by the memories of them.

Noticing that she wasn't exactly drifting off despite her moments earlier yawns and drooping eyes - he could feel her fingers tracing threads along his sleeve again - he began softly recounting a tamer memory from his Fade wanderings.

It may not have been going in his preferred way, but this was ultimately going to plan. And 'friend' was still a step up from mere 'mentor,' after all.

* * *

After reluctantly and carefully maneuvering himself out of Bevin's bed and dressing for the day, Solas quietly left their shared hut, determined to speak with the Herald on the matter at hand. Since this had something to do with the events at Redcliffe, she could potentially shed light on what could be causing Bevin to have these nightmarish visions from the alternative timeline.

She was found taking breakfast around a fire with Varric, Sera, and the Tevinter Magister.

Solas bid them all a good morning before requesting to speak with Nichole privately. She lead him back the short distance to her own hut.

"What's up? You don't normally seek me out, Solas." She watched in interest as he took the liberty of lighting the candles around them with a flick of his hand. "How's Bevin doing? I heard she wasn't feeling well. Haven't seen her out and about as much lately."

While he did not want to start a panic, he needed to rattle _her_ enough that she would speak with him fully. Being open with her about this was likely the best option. "Redcliffe, or rather, Alexius' magic, has affected her more than she has let on. Bevin is now having visions of the alternate timeline that took place after you disappeared. I would like for you to tell me all of what happened after passing through the Time rift."

He knew instantly that the Herald had indeed withheld details when debriefing everyone after the events had settled. Nichole's face paled and she looked away from him almost guiltily. "Oh, God," she muttered. She turned restlessly on her heel, biting her lip and running fingers through her cropped hair. Brown eyes took him in as she contemplated something.

She bid him to sit at her desk while she sat at the edge of her bed. "They had many of the more influential members of the Inquisition held prisoner, as I'd said before. Most were being subjected to red lyrium…poisoning, experimentation, whatever. It kind of grew everywhere, so it generally just affected everyone. But," she stopped abruptly, eyes searching for words in the floorboards. She stood again to pace. Her arms flopped to her sides when she stopped and she looked unable to even glance at him. "I don't… Solas, they _tortured_ her. Leliana, too, but Bevin was _barely_ alive when we found her. They blinded her; they cut her, burned her... She was covered in mark-symbol-things that Dorien said were from them trying to force Tranquility on her – I don't even want to imagine what else."

"How do you mean 'tried' to make her Tranquil?" he asked, hoping that she may have more information to add to what Bevin had experienced that night. He had never heard of it failing, though if it had happened before, it was not likely to be something those in control of the rite would want known.

Nichole fidgeted, gesticulating her words, "Uhm, it's in the papers. She had some kind of branding on her forehead, but in other places, too - not like the symbol that the Tranquil here have, though. Bevin, uh, the _other_ one, said it was never fully successful."

He frowned, "What papers?" Had she brought something back from that dismal future? He wasn't sure that he wanted to read through anything that Alexius had had done to Bevin, but if it would help him cure her of these visions...

Nichole reflexively glanced to their location, but didn't seem to want to show him.

He prodded her, "Let me see them. The content they hold may help us to figure out what is happening to her and find a way to stop it from continuing."

The woman twisted her hands together in front of him, weighing something in her mind - perhaps he should have put more time and effort into gaining her trust and friendship. "She's really seeing all that? Doesn't she feel stuff that happens in them?"

He nodded, "I was awoken by her screaming from the vision she Saw mere hours ago. By her account, the severity of the events are becoming worse. For all intents and purposes, she _is_ experiencing torture firsthand."

"Oh, God. Dude, they cut her fingers off!" she despaired, still delaying allowing him to see the damned papers, and clearly torn.

"Nichole…the papers?" he sighed in exasperation.

She stomped a foot in her own show of exasperated grievance. "Ugh, you told me _not_ to!"

His brow furrowed in confusion, unable to recall any conversation that would have lead to that conclusion. "I have done no such thing."

Nichole shook her head, waving off his reaction, "Not _you_ , the other you!"

The implications started piling up in his mind rapidly. "The 'me' in the other timeline told you not to share these papers with _me_?" That was believable and highly worrisome if true, but he could not trust the Herald to know what to look for and relay it to him secondhand. "I would hardly have been able to predict that _this_ would happen," he justified.

Nichole groaned loudly, "Oh, my God, _fine_!" She walked heavy footed back over to her bed and dug out a bolt of cloth from under her bed. She unwrapped it to reveal a thick stack of papers - some bound, others looked to have been hastily torn from bindings - thrusting the lot at him. "Here! Don't frick anything up too badly. And you can't blame me later if you do!" she finished with a wild gesture towards him before huffing and falling back to seat herself on the bed.

He took the papers with a cringe, the unexpected words striking chords within him that still felt unsurmountable guilt at his past actions that created this troubled world.

She continued on in her tirade, "I'm not a _thinker_ like you guys - I can't ponder long and hard about the thousands of possible 'unintentional _butterfly_ outcomes'!"

"What do butterflies have to do with this matter?" he asked distractedly, mind already on the papers he was skimming and thumbing through.

He heard her snort. "Really? She hasn't ranted to you about the butterfly thing? Something, something, 'The smallest thing can have an effect on the behavior of something else which can - so on and so forth - snowball into major consequences.' It's why she's become so paranoid about her visions and stopped telling people about them." She grumbled, "Cass has been peeved over it. Doesn't like the secrecy."

"We have spoken in length of such things," Solas responded, "but she did not put a name to the specific effect."

The bed creaked as she shifted around on it. "Maybe Bevin should be the one looking through them, then," she finally said at length, her tone still suggesting she did not like that _he_ was. In the moral sense, she was probably right: there was no telling what consequences certain knowledge could have in his hands. How much did he trust _himself_? The answer to that was "not a lot," but he found he would rather have the information and be able to make choices on the future. What was his other self actually trying to prevent?

A hand was waved in front of his face and he realised that he had been staring at a point on the paper he had been reading. The Herald must have been expecting some sort of reply from him, though she continued on, "I mean, if she's seeing all the stuff happening anyway, wouldn't she be the best one to piece together everything in there? And then we could avoid all the stupid butterfly stuff."

He could have handed the papers back to her and avoided further debate on this dilemma, but he found himself providing an excuse instead, "Bevin is exhausted, and I am not sure that she would be able to pull the relevant information. She is intelligent but still learning the finer intricacies of magic." And a final play at the Herald's emotional connection with his charge, "And she should not have to relive any of this any further."

From the corner of his eye, he could see the woman finally deflate in concession.

She was quiet for a time, allowing him to read. Upon her desk he had begun separating out papers with useful information from those that contained nothing unknown or of particular import.

The silence was fairly short-lived as she apparently just could not let it go. He could not help rolling his eyes as she spoke, knowing she could not see his face, "Then I think we should bring Dorian in on this. Time magic's kind of his thing - he'd probably be able to help."

The Tevinter was one of the last people he wanted nosing around them. It was by a stroke of luck, and likely no shortness of personal grandiosity, that Vivienne had deemed it more important to be intimately involved in every aspect of the requisition of the rebel Mages, leaving her too busy to seek out Bevin and in the dark to her current condition. "I would _very_ much prefer that we keep this between as few people as possible, Nichole."

"But he's already read through most of that. It could save a lot of time," she continued to argue.

He could not properly parry that suggestion, so he would have to head it off from further action on her part, "Then I will speak with him personally."

He trusted the other Mage even less than he trusted himself with this information. And if he really had read most of this in any depth, then he had knowledge that could potentially endanger Bevin. It would not take a genius to figure out that Bevin had some very peculiar gifts - Dorian obviously already knew about the failure to make her Tranquil; it was plainly written that they knew she had some kind of innate healing ability; Dorian likely knew _far_ more than himself in the area of Temporal magic; there was little telling what he had seen of her while in the other future. The thoughts went on and on. He could really only hope that the Tevinter Mage bought into the divine bestowment of Bevin's powers and left it at that.

Nichole 'tsked'-ed in annoyance, "He's right outside! I can go get him!"

His eyes caught on a section of writing while trying to simultaneously come up with something to distract the Herald from her current line of desired actions. "Bevin is immune to blight sickness," he thought aloud.

"So's Leliana," she supplied. It matched up with what he was now seeing in the papers, as they evidently were _not_ solely focused on their Prophet. He filed it away for future deliberation as he doubted it actually pertained to the current situation. "That was about as far as I could really get. It gets weird and technical beyond that, and then the journaling detailing the torture stuff starts. I've been trying to stomach my way through it, but…"

Solas turned to look at her, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk. "What can you tell me of the timeline that occurred for that year? The events that happened _after_ you left through the rift here, but _before_ you appeared there."

"Uhm," Nichole pulled a face searching through her memory. "Let's see… I wasn't told a whole lot about you guys specifically. After Dorian and I went through the rift, there was a fight. Alexius was prepared far more than we thought and they got to Bevin in the clash and confusion. Our forces ended up having to retreat. It kind of spirals out from there with the Elder One revealing himself and all the battles. Cassandra said morale really fell after Bevin and I were both gone, though they could rally some behind getting her back. There was a lot of propaganda spread around her joining the other side. With the Chantry fractured, the enemy really swept through and did a lot of damage in just that year."

She swallowed thickly and her voice softened, "Most of our allies ended up either falling in battle or being captured when overpowered, like Cass. Empress Celene was assassinated. They even got to Vivienne, too. Once enough intel was gathered, a rescue was attempted to get Bevin and the others back. I think six or seven months in. That was where you and Leliana got captured."

"I went back for her?" With Leliana? He surely would not have stayed with the Inquisition long into this if it was falling. Why would he do such a thing and compromise his goals? Was this future so dismal that he had given up on them completely? Or was Bevin really that important? He cared for her, but that wouldn't sway him to abandon everything. Nichole had to be withholding details of what happened. His tongue acted faster than his ability to inhibit the accusation coloring his speech, "What are you not telling me?"

He had to remind himself that she did not have the ability or knowledge to know or pay attention to what would have interested _him_ in the other future.

Something in what he had said caused Nichole to frown. A second later she was scoffing incredulously. "Why _wouldn't_ you try to get her back?" His face fell, and he felt his heart thud heavily, afraid he had made a grave mistake with his choice of words.

A grin cracked across the Herald's face before she threw her head back and began howling with laughter. "You can't tell me you don't have feelings for her! I've seen the way you look at her. _And_ you're currently going out of your way to help her." She looked pointedly to the papers covering her desk. Despite his best efforts, he could feel his ears turning red and further incriminating him in her eyes.

So the Herald had convinced herself that he was secretly in love with Bevin.

As he listened to her, he could feel the throb of a headache coming on right behind his eyes. On the one hand, he himself was now incredulous that _this_ was the turn their conversation was taking, and on the other, his mind was reaching for ways to _somehow_ spin this to his advantage.

She took his silence as concession. "Oh, it's perfectly scandalous!" she squealed. Fine, he would go with it because it was less scandalous than what he was _actually_ doing and would afford an explanation for his continued closeness with Bevin.

"And we'll get Bevin to come around!" She pumped a fist into the air with determination. He shook his head in objection, but she interrupted before he could voice his opinion, "Don't worry, mi amigo, this'll be our secret!"

And now she was injecting herself into his private life. What was that phase Bevin liked to use, "zero to sixty in three-point-five"?

"Let's fix her!" Nichole picked up the papers nearest her and began reading. "So, what are we looking for?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, using magic to try to sooth the building ache away.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon sun shone through slits around the curtains above her when she woke up for the second time.  She hadn’t expected him to still be in her bed when she woke up, especially this late, but she still kinda hoped Solas would have stuck around.  Said elf was probably out poking Nichole or that other Mage - _what was his name?_ \- for more details of Redcliffe.  Bevin found her stomach protesting missing the first meal of the day, though she didn’t have much of an appetite for anything.

She’d have to go find something to eat and settle her stomach before holing back up in the hut for the day.  She might have slept a good several hours, but she still felt exhausted and jumpy from the visions, and she planned on brainstorming their cause further.

Settled on a course of action, Bevin opened the chest at the end of her bed and dug through it for something appropriate to wear for the - hopefully less than - ten minutes she’d take to the tavern and back.

While she’d taken up hems and sleeves of some of the secondhand clothing she’d been given - admittedly a bit sloppily, but fine-handed needlework had never exactly been a priority to learn in the past thanks to an invention called a sewing machine - most still didn’t quite fit appropriately enough to wear out.  Dresses and robes that fit through the chest had unseamly neck and shoulder lines, billowed at her waist, and dragged several inches past her hands and feet.  Leggings that fit her bum and thighs were also clearly made for someone half a foot taller and gaped horribly at the waist - made uglier with the addition of tight or cut off belts that caused pleats and bubbles of fabric.  Losing weight from all the new activity and traveling and back-to-nature food staples only meant that she now filled out clothing even more poorly.   _Something_ was against her wearing simple shirts and tunics - which she would have preferred if only because they’d be less work to fix into being halfway presentable.

In her talks with Scout Harding and a few other women who happened to be closer to her own figure and size, they’d only been able to impart that they also largely had the same problems and dealt with them by self-tailoring when possible and specialty orders when not.  While taking supper with said head scout on one of her sporadic returns to the Keep, an eavesdropping soldier had suggested that they try children’s clothing.  Not one to take kindly to having her diminutive size compared to that of a kid, Lace had done what Bevin had felt the urge to do and responded by shoving his face into his bowl of grits.  They were on their way to a fast friendship.

With her status, a few choice words within earshot of Vivienne or Josie would probably land her with some better clothing, though she’d likely just be given more impractical dresses.  Hard to run in, easy to catch fire.  She didn’t need clothes that aided other things in killing her.

Bevin pulled out a simple dark green dress that was a current work in progress.  She’d cut off about eight inches from the bottom and the stupid, flowery extra fabric from the sleeves, rehemmed them, and added slits in the skirt on either side to her thighs, but still needed to take in the waist and had work to do in the shoulders and neck.  But it was good enough that she could throw a shawl or her mantle over it and be fine for now.

Her one good bra was seeing its last days.  She’d been told that a good seamstress would probably be able to make something similar, but such a thing was a luxury that they did not currently have available.  Hell, there wasn’t even a simple tailor available in Haven right now.  Using the strips of cloth meant for binding ended up as a colossal failure every time.  While it might have worked for a lesser endowed woman, for her, there was no comfortable medium between total, numbing constriction and falling apart at the slightest hint of activity, so she more often found herself free-boobing it these days.  Her leather breastplate kept everything in place enough when she actually needed the support.

Her blouse and shorts flew off in exchange for the dress.  Shimmying into panties was very nearly foregone before pulling on leggings.  She shuffled her way towards the door, pulling her boots on sloppily and not bothering to straighten laces, just jamming the ends down the cuffs.

All at once, she was struck with that familiar feeling of nausea and haziness that signalled the onset of a vision.  The room began to spin as she turned back around and tried to make it back to her bed, but she could feel herself losing control of her body and falling forward.  The thought that she should have just lain down on the ground came too late, as always.

And then she is being restrained.  Arms stretched taut over her head, her back lies against a cold, hard surface.  There is water dripping in her face from an increasingly familiar stone ceiling.  There’s a dull, throbbing ache in her right hand.  She tries to wrench her arms against the metal of the shackles binding her wrists.  Her ankles are held the same way.

Bevin feels the healed, tight skin on her forehead where they had branded her in the last vision.  There were now other areas, new brands she can feel from how they still burn, where they had attempted the rite to induce Tranquility upon her.  She can feel her mana, but just barely a spark - it’s weak.  Why had the Rite not worked?  They couldn’t have messed it up that many times, and they seemed very confident that it would work that first time.

There is mumbling to her side.  She feels her head turn to see her captors.  The mad doctor in charge of her is writing quickly.  He is arguing with the guard next to him, casting frequent leering glances her way.

There’s another presence here, but she doesn’t see anything from the view she currently has.  She wills her alter self to move, but only feels herself scowling at the doctor.  He is now walking towards her.

The doctor smiles at her in a fake, disarming manner.  He strokes a finger along the brand still angry red upon her chest. “It seems our time to play nice is up.”  A feeling of dread settles in her stomach, for they had never been ‘nice,’ but she knew there was a whole lot more that they could yet do to her.  “The Elder One has imparted to me the imperativeness that your Sight be removed by any means necessary.  You will soon come to wish that the Rite had taken hold.”  His fingers trace down her skin to her navel in a caress.  “It is a shame, putting out the light on such a beauty and power.”

Bevin jerks away from his touch as much as she is able.  She spits at him, and he slaps her across the face hard enough that she feels her teeth rattle.

The doctor drops all semblance of niceties once again as he turns to the guard and orders that he restrain her.  Bevin feels her heartbeat and breath quicken as the nerves take over to spite her false bravado.  Her jaw clenches to stop the clattering of her teeth.  Leather clad hands grip her head tightly, and her mind knows what’s coming, in some form or another, as she continues to try in vain to shake him off.  Her mana rises up in defense, but she isn’t strong enough to do anything.  The face above her only grins cruelly.

Bevin tries again to dispel the vision, not at all willing to so closely witness her own torture again, but she doesn’t know how and nothing seems to work.  At the same time, she is unable close her own eyes to what’s occurring.  Why did they just not kill her?  Though she doubted death by his hand would be anything but quick, at least there’d be an end to these visions.

Her eyes are clenching shut, but she is powerless to prevent them from being pried back open by fingers glowing brightly beneath protective barrier magic.  A clear flask is swilled above her, purposefully within her line of sight.  It is slowly tipped, the liquid splashing into one eye and sizzling hotly down her cheek and brow before fingers are at her left eye and repeating the same deliberate actions.

A keening reaches her ears that she realises is her own screaming.  It’s nearly drowned out by the agonizing pain radiating from her face and seizing through her whole body.  The acid dripping and pooling at her head and shoulders only serves to make her whole head feel like it’s on fire.  After several seconds, she feels her skin begin to bubble and blister before burning and peeling away.  Her mind blanks to nothing but the searing whiteness of the pain.

There’s a strange warmth enveloping her, a soothing presence.  Bevin can’t tell if it’s coming from within the vision or from her reality, but she gladly welcomes it like a calm, cleansing water to chase away the burning and numb her to the heat.

After what felt like hours, Bevin found herself waking back to reality in the small entrance vestibule of the hut.  Her body shook under the strain of her breaths as she tried to brush the memory of the vision away.  Fists hastily swept at her damp face in attempt to remove traces of the tears that still clung.  Sniffling, she pushed herself to sit up, wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress.  Bevin growled to herself, clutching along the wood of the entranceway to stand on uneasy legs, unable to forget the painful sensation of her skin and eyes burning and blistering away.  Like the rest of her visions, even though it felt like she’d been “gone” for an eternity, only the longest minutes of her life had crawled by.

She made her way clumsily to her bed and sat to compose herself.  Her head felt weirdly fuzzy.  Her throat felt raw and she suddenly worried if someone had heard.  She had no idea how or what to explain if they had.

Her hands kept twisting the material of her dress in her hands.  She forced herself to stop and caught sight of the dark blotches maring the crumpled, green fabric.  Turning her hands over, she saw her splayed fingers and palms covered in the crimson of drying blood; there was buildup under her nails tinged red.

Bevin ran to her desk and pulled the small hand mirror out of the top drawer.  She renewed the magic orbs lighting the hut to see better.  Her reflection showed a face covered in scratches and welts, blood in crusting rivets from where the skin had broken and wet smears of red where she had thought she was only wiping tears away.  Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

The mirror slipped from shaking fingers to the ground where it shattered into large fragments within its decorative frame.

She fell back down on the bed, failing to bite back a sob as her eyes welled up once more.  She felt so out of control and helpless.   _Why_ was this happening to her?

She found herself wishing Solas was here.  To hold her and mumble about dreams of far away adventures to distract her from the hurt and memories.  But she couldn’t burden him like that.  She already took up too much of his time and concern with these stupid powers and his teachings.  There were plenty of other things more deserving of his attention.

That same odd emanation from the vision came back to her; a deep, enveloping warmth that worked to soothe away her anxieties.  It moved as though _alive_.  She couldn’t get rid of the itch that there was another presence around her.  Bevin shook her head, running her hand over her face to try to gather herself again.  Eyes widening, she felt the skin of her face again.  Her brow furrowed in confusion before she remembered that her body could evidently heal itself.  She slid down to the floor and carefully picked up the broken mirror.

The scratches and welts were quickly mending and disappearing, redness vanishing even as she watched.  Within the next few minutes, all that was left was the blood dirtying her skin.

Setting the mirror on her desk, she discarded the shawl from her shoulders and dragged her dress up over her head.  She dropped it to the floor and walked over to a wooden pail that sat by the fireplace.  Willing her mana to calm, she summoned up a trickle of water to begin slowly filling the bucket.

If anyone else saw the fresh blood stains, they’d ask questions.  Best to wash them out now before they set in and became more difficult to remove.

Bevin dragged her sleeping blouse back over her head, not wanting to be sitting there topless if anyone came knocking or barging in.  After she located the scrubbing brush made of some animal’s coarse hair and the soap she used for washing and bathing, she set to the tasks of cleaning the blood from her face and working out the stains from the dress.  Luckily, the color was dark enough that it wouldn’t take too much effort.

A knock at her door had her jerking in surprise.  She stood up hastily and grabbed the mirror again to check that she looked well enough that no questions would be asked of her appearance.  With the blood out of the dress now, it could be passed as ordinary laundry, so that was fine to leave.

Bevin turned to open the door, unsure of who would come knocking.  Most people, or Nikki, Cassandra, and one particular scout, anyway, would pretty much knock _while_ entering the hut.  The new Mage stood staring at her from the other side of the threshold.

He flashed her a roguish grin, “Miss Bevin, was it?  I’ve heard that you have been a bit under the weather lately.  We did not get much chance to speak before.”  Before she could return the greeting or welcome him in, he was pushing past her.

“A quaint little home you have here,” he spoke of the surroundings.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite remember your name…?”  She was way too tired to want to deal with this right now.  Why was he here?

“Dorian of House Pavus,” he briskly replied.  He poked a finger curiously at the broken mirror still sitting out on her desk.   _Shit!_  She forgot to hide that.  Bevin schooled herself into non-reaction, repeating to herself that the mirror was of no importance and didn’t warrant a second glance or any real explanation.

He pulled out her desk chair, plopping himself right down in it like he owned the thing.  “It’s rare to find you separate from your elf companion, it seems.”

Bevin sighed and made her way back to her bed to seat herself.  He was here to discuss _something_ , might as well get comfortable.  The thought to acquire an extra chair for visitors briefly passed through her mind.  “I’m awfully tired still, Dorian, and I don’t mean to be rude, but why have you come to see me?”

“Oh, no, that _was_ my reason,” he chuckled.  “I just wished to speak without your ever-suspicious elf listening in and voicing his brash opinions.”

“Pardon; he’s been brash towards you?”  She knew Solas could be abrasive towards others at times, but she’d never known him to be particularly unwelcoming.

Dorian clarified, “No love lost toward us ‘Vints, especially from the Dalish elves.”

“He’s not Dalish,” Bevin corrected while searching her mind for what she knew of the relationship between the Tevinter Empire and elves.  Tevinter still widely kept slaves, elves tended to be among the under-privileged in great numbers - thus slaves, and Tevinter drove elves from their land centuries ago during at least one of the wars.  Gods, she was too tired for this.

“Well, he certainly dresses like some sort of woodsman.  But no, his words have always been welcoming at first, shallow parsing, even if his gaze has said anything but.”  Dorian crossed his legs and shrugged, “He just doesn’t trust me.  Which is all dandy.  Few here do.  I haven’t really given much reason, yet, to be deserving of any significant grant of trust.”

“So, you’re here now because he isn’t...” Bevin lead, hoping he’d get to whatever he was going to, though a certain amount of wariness was setting in since he’d gone out of his way to get her alone.  Another part of her was settling pretty hard on its distrust of him.

He flashed another eye-crinkling, dazzling smile, ostensibly meant to disarm her further.  “I am not trying to alarm you.”  At his words, Bevin noticed that she had been scowling and sitting guardedly.  “We may not have spoken much here, but the Prophet I met of the future was quite possibly one of the bravest and most mentally fortified of people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  It would be a great disservice to not get to know the, ah, original, and that includes all of these wonderful mysteries surrounding your powers.”

The heavy compliments added to her uneasiness.  She made little effort then to bring herself out of her guarded state for she knew it wouldn’t work.  Bevin suddenly felt quite nervous that Solas wasn’t there to help her field this line of inquiry.  She took a deep breath and reminded herself that she had already been doing this dance with Vivienne, who seemed to have lost most of her interest already.

“Now, I am quite familiar with the signs of spiritual possession.”   _Oh, no, no, no._

She wasn’t ready for this.


	12. Going Supernatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very happy with this chapter, but I'm very done with it at this point and felt that it needed to be published. Might come back at a later point to edit/rewrite more. Dorian's not a bad guy, but he's not stupid nor unobservant. Given his own powers and abilities, I think he'd get nosy.
> 
> Quotes in all italics denote internal/mental conversation, or as best as I can explain without directly spoiling. If it’s too confusing, let me know and I’ll try to come up with a better system.

* * *

“As I said, I do not wish to cause you any alarm.  I’ve only waited for Solas to leave because I do not know what _he_ has come to know of your powers,” Dorian attempted to clarify upon seeing her uneasy expression.  Further placating, he added, “I only wished to keep these matters private.”

“Okay, so what does that have to do with me?” for she rightly didn’t know.  She settled some as his reasoning to wait for Solas to leave was at least believable.

“A very good question!” Dorian beamed.  “I’m really only basing my observations on what I saw of that future you, so they may not even be applicable to your...current self.”

“Future me was possessed?” Bevin exclaimed in confusion.  Then her eyes narrowed on him, “How would you know?”

The Mage puffed up some, waving off his own words with a tone that said she was really supposed to find them impressive, “Well, I dabble in necromancy now and again.  I have some limited control over spirits.”

“But I don’t think I’m possessed now?”  When would that have even happened?  At the beginning of all of this, months ago?  Or maybe in that time she blacked out at Redcliffe?  Was it like demonic possession?  Wouldn’t she _know_ if some spirit was possessing her?  Unless the new visions were tied to _that_ …  Bevin’s breathing quickened, and she fought the urge to start panicking.  This wasn’t something she knew _anything_ about, and it had tons of potential to get her into hot water.  There was a painful prickling starting up at her temple, since a headache was _just_ what she needed right now.

“It is quite possible that it _only_ occurred in that other timeline.  It didn’t seem at all malevolent in nature, though potentially of some power considering that it was fighting in your stead while I was there.”  That’s right!  He _had_ been there.  Bevin hadn’t Seen anything of the final escape and battle, though, so she wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about from his experience there.

She shook her head wearily, feeling exhaustion once again creeping on her.  “I haven’t Seen anything-” Bevin bit her tongue once she realised that her unintentional rush to give her own contrary version events would tell him that she was Seeing the other future.

But she hadn’t done it quickly enough, and he smiled knowingly when he caught the words.  “Yes, the other matter; I overheard from Solas’ meeting with our Herald - she’s _really_ not all that quiet,” he interjected with a sigh, “that you’ve been having trouble with these... _other_ visions.”  He shrugged with a sniff, “The elf doesn’t want me involved, but the Herald _does_ .  I figured that I would personally extend an offer of my assistance should you welcome it.”  She might have been tired and half out of her wits, but it didn’t take a genius to be able to tell that he was _keenly_ interested.

Bevin pursed her lips.  “How would you be able to help?”  What was his end goal here?  Having her indebted to him should he be able to fix this?  Digging for potential blackmail?

“I am _far_ more knowledgeable in the Art of Temporal magic than _he_ is, and three heads are better than two.”  That was a pretty compelling argument when _not_ taking any of the consequences of including him into account.  Did she want to risk these horrid visions never stopping?  How would he and Solas react if they _were_ connected to some kind of possession?  Demonic possession, at least, was justifiable grounds for killing other Mages.

“Three heads?  You’re not counting...Nikki?” was the more innocuous question she decided upon asking.

“Maker, no.”  He sat back with a shake of his head.  “She has...such odd views of magic and requires an in depth explanation for _absolutely_ every show of it that I do in front of her.  It was flattering...at first.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bevin snorted with a roll of her eyes.  She could feel the tension between them finally dropping off.  “It’s, like, ‘I know you want to understand it, but there’s kind of only so much I can teach you as a non-Mage.’”

“Yes!” he enthusiastically agreed.  “It is exhausting.  The vast majority of the time she ends up referencing things the likes of which I’ve never even heard!”

Bevin snorted.  “ _You_ haven’t even been here very long!” she laughed.  “And _probably_ my fault since I usually have to relate it back to the fake magic of our world for her to have any chance of understanding.”  Her face reddened as she admitted, “I pretty much did the exact same thing to Solas when we first came here, though.”

“I have gathered as much, which is also quite the fascinating phenomena that I fully intend on pursuing further with you in conversation...at a later point, of course,” he imparted with a chuckle.

They lapsed into an awkward silence spent staring at each other.  Bevin still wasn’t sure what to make of him, but found that he had an easy presence.  After all, being a super villain with that kind of facial hair would be so cliche that it would constitute a crime.

“So you were brought here with no prior knowledge of this world’s magical workings and no prior ability to interact with it?” he lead.  This was a familiar line of inquiry, though he was going somewhere with it.

“Pretty much,” she answered, watching him carefully.

His brow furrowed and he started to speak, but held back, looking to rethink his words before beginning again.  “Syphoning is certainly an intriguing Art.  I’ve never heard of someone under its influence in a constant state, however.  Is it intentional?”  What did this have to do with her visions or the whole possession thing he brought up?

Well, he evidently knew what he was talking about in this area, so there was no use in denying it.  “Well, no.  I kind of ‘fell from the sky’ with the ability just ‘on.’  Our world doesn’t have magic, so prior to coming here I’d never exactly done anything...magical.”  She canted her head in question, “How did you know it was syphoning?  It took Solas and I - well, _I_ was clueless, so just Solas - quite awhile to figure out what it was.”

“Familiarity with general technique and the marks.  Though, people don’t generally put them on their face for reasons I’m sure you’ve had the pleasure of discovering.  It’s well known for making one’s palms itchy.”  With a knowing grin, he held a hand up in demonstration.

She blinked as his words processed.  “Are they _moveable_?” Bevin gasped.

“In your case, I have no idea,” he shrugged.  She shrank in disappointment.  "They’re rather iconic at this point, though.  Would you even want to remove them?”  Blargh, he had a point.

“I only bring the Art up because I believe that your syphoning may have something to do with your visions.”  She and Solas had already made a tentative connection between the two, being that the syphoning was powering whatever magic that lead to her visions.  She wasn’t sure how she felt that a complete outsider was able to arrive at the same conclusion so quickly.  “The marks glow when you are entranced.  Figure out the finer workings of your magic, and we may be able to work out why you are suddenly having these new visions.”

It was at that moment that Bevin’s stomach loudly announced its angry protest at the continued delay of procuring nourishment.  Her face reddened as she apologized, “Sorry.  I was on my way out to get food when you stopped by.”

He merely smiled.  “I suppose the least that I could do then is acquire us something to eat while we converse.”  He stood and gave a stretch, asking if she wanted anything in particular.  Not feeling picky and thanking him, he was soon on his way out.

The tension that had been building up in her finally melted away.  Perhaps he had sensed it and was using this as an excuse to build a better bridge between them.  Well, the way to _her_ heart was best travelled via her stomach.

_“We should have ourselves a quick little chat before he returns, dear.”_

Bevin choked back a sudden squeak at the voice echoing around her, her wide eyes flitting around the room to find the source, though something told her that she wouldn’t find one.

_“Oh, do not act so surprised,”_ the foreign, feminine voiced laughed.   _“I_ can _hear your thoughts.”_

“Who are you?” Bevin demanded aloud, still not quite believing the lack of physical form for this voice.  Was it really inside her head?

_“I am not here to hurt you, child,”_ she soothed.   _“I am the reason that you survived that eruption those months ago.”_

The claim caught Bevin’s attention, outweighing her want to call out the dodging of the actual question.  “Why would you do that?”  

The voice sounded wistful, the lilting words dancing in her mind, _“I was but an ever-weakening spirit, watching our worlds for over two thousand years from inside the Fade.  I saw you pulled through that very first rift between the worlds.  I believed that an outsider was the exact thing this tumultuous land needed, and used what power I had to protect you.”_

“But what about Nikki?  You didn’t have anything to do with her or the Conclave?”  Was there more than one thing or person involved in their abduction from their world?

Bevin got a mental ‘feeling’ that the woman was shrugging.   _“I am afraid not.  Her circumstances are a mystery to me, just as those surrounding the events that took place here.”_

“But who _are_ you?  I know you’re not just some random person.”  Dorian had said that the spirit in the other timeline had to have been quite powerful, so she couldn’t be any ol’ random spirit or person, right?

She just further brushed it off, _“That is not important at this time.  You must keep the Mage from prying further.  I know not the extent of his abilities, but if allowed to further ‘poke’ around, he may be able to sense my presence, however weak I still am.  We do not know where his loyalties lie, and you can imagine what would happen if such knowledge got out.”_  Bevin didn’t like that it sounded as though the woman was purposefully trying to scare her into being compliant with this, but she was right.

Still, “Could he exorcise you?” Bevin wondered.  “Do I even _want_ you in me?  Get out,” she huffed, crossing her arms and pretending to scowl at an imaginary woman in front of her.

The woman snorted, _“Ha!  Oh, sweetie...  You_ will _need me.  You have_ so _many questions about this land and its peoples, and I can give a great many answers.”_  At what cost, though?

Bevin scrunched her face up in more than a little annoyance when the woman replied directly to her thought, _“I seek only to see the lands and People so dear to me reunited and prosperous once more!”_

“Why only make yourself known _now_ , then?” she countered.  This was beyond frustrating.

_“I did not have the strength to do so until fairly recently,”_ the spirit admitted.   _“I am still recovering from using what power I had to protect you.  And then I desired to wait for the right moment.  This is far from how I wished to introduce myself.”_  She grumbled, _“_ You _certainly are not the most trusting of people.”_

Well it wasn’t like damn near everything seemed like it was out to either kill or use her in this world.

Bevin heard the spirit sigh and could almost feel her rolling her eyes. _“I did not say that you are wrong to feel that way.  To the contrary, it is wise to be wary to the motives of others.  Were I to look upon this situation from the outside, I, too, would be very skeptical as to the motives of the spirit possessing another.”_

_“The Mage is returning.  Oh!  And it seems he has picked up your dear mentor.”_  The spirit woman laughed excitedly, likely in anticipation of potential drama.   _“Remember, you can communicate with me using only your thoughts, spoken words are unnecessary between us.  Be careful.”_

_“Well, that’s good,”_ Bevin tried to speak within her mind alone.  Was this how someone schizophrenic felt? _“Solas won’t let Dorian get too close.”_

Said elf was visibly peeved upon entering their hut, going by the tick that had developed in his stiffened jaw.  Dorian’s cheerful demeanor conveyed that he was thoroughly enjoying having snuck around Solas’ objections to his presence.

While Dorian seated himself back upon the nearby desk chair, Solas walked to stand guardedly in the small space between them.  Bevin noticed Nikki standing with a goofy grin by the entrance.

There was a slight crackle and pop of conflicting energies as both Mages fought to erect their own barrier to soundproof the hut.  Bevin rolled her eyes at their behavior and grumbled, “Play nice, you two.”

Solas exhaled harshly but leaned a hip against her desk, gaze ever on the Magister.  Still agitated, but now trying to downplay it.  She could tell that he was biting his tongue for now, as much as he disliked the situation.

Dorian made a show of leaning around him to hand her the tray of food he had brought back.  There was tittering laughter echoing at the back of her mind and she fought the urge to roll her eyes.  At least someone was getting a kick out of this.

Bevin looked past them to make eye contact with Nikki, raising a brow in question of their behavior.  The blonde merely shook her head, rolling a shoulder in a shrug.

“Okay, I’m just gonna assume you’re all here for the same reason.  What does everyone know?” Bevin decided to break them of the weird staring contest they were having and get this underway.

“Ever since Redcliffe, you’ve been having bizarro-world visions,” Nikki supplied.

At hearing her voice, the other two Mages stiffened and turned to look at Bevin, casting furtive glances towards Nichole.  They had forgotten the Herald was even there with them, but she caught on to their conveyed concern.  Nichole was now the only one in the room who didn’t know about her more ‘off-brand’ powers.  What was safe to share in her presence?

“Nikki, what is shared here does not _leave_ here,” Bevin informed her.  “Got it?” she waited for her to agree.  “That means no Cassandra, no Cullen, no Varric.”  She didn’t like keeping secrets from Nikki, but she wasn’t always great at watching her words and those that she was closest to were also the worst ones to learn any of this.

Bevin brusquely cut off her objections, “Because it’s about my weird-ass magic and doesn’t concern them.  Need to know - _they_ don’t ‘need to know.’”

“But what if they could help?” Nikki argued.

She sighed around the spoon in the process of shoveling food into her mouth.  “If we seriously can’t figure this out between us, _then_ we will consider going to the others for help.  But right now, it would only worry and scare them over something they probably wouldn’t understand anyway.”

Nichole huffed and pulled the other desk chair out to sit close to the rest of the group.  She sat and pulled a thick pile of papers up to her lap.

“What are those?” Bevin asked curiously with a jerk of her chin towards the stack.

Dorian beat the other two to the explanation, “ _Those_ are the papers we brought back from our trip to the future.  We figured since you are the one having such visions that _you_ would be the best party to discern if there is any relevant information within them that could help.”

Looking miffed that Dorian had stolen his thunder, Solas asked of the other Mage, “Tell me, Dorian, how would you know the exact reasoning for why _we_ brought the papers with us?”  Seeing them reduced to petty squabbles would have been outright hilarious had she not been so completely exhausted.

Nikki answered as though the reason was obvious, “He was right outside the door the whole time we were talking earlier.  He probably heard.”

Solas was incredulous.  “And you _knew_ he was there?”

“Yeah, I saw him go by the window.  And I seem to remember _telling you_ that I could just go get him since he was right outside.”  Nikki looked confused over his tone.

Solas rubbed a palm over his face.

Having taken a moment to process what Dorian had said those were, Bevin suddenly became alarmed.

“Wait, wait, wait: you brought something _back_?” Bevin asked skeptically as she levelled an unapproving glower at Nichole and Dorian.  The issue seemed plain as day to her now, but the others had varying levels of confusion written on their faces from her tone.

“Well, they seemed important at the time, and we were kinda rushing, so…”  Nikki stumbled up with a reason.

“ _They_ are from the other time, so it’s causing a continuity problem.  They brought with them energy from the other future.  Much like how the amulet had pulled you forward in time to another large source of likened energy, whatever powers my visions is being pulled to the energy being put off by those papers.  Or something like that.”

Nikki was staring at her blankly.  “That sounds like something you pulled out of your butt with random words attached.”

“Probably the basis of a Supernatural episode or something.  But it _totally_ makes sense!”  Bevin didn’t think she was actually convincing anyone, though Solas and Dorian at least seemed to be thinking her words over.

“If you say so.”  Nikki still wasn’t buying it.  What, was it too _simple_ of an explanation?

“No, it does,” Dorian finally spoke up in her defense.  For all his supposed expertise, if she was right, Bevin felt like it was something he should have figured out sooner.  Who knew what _other_ kinds of consequences bringing something back from another time could cause?

Nikki finally relented with the second opinion.  “So, if the papers are the issue, what do we do?”

“Well, we still have the amulet.  We could…”  Dorian started in with a plan to somehow open another temporal rift and toss the papers through.  Solas thoroughly disapproved, citing the countless unknown dangers such a thing could cause, and the two spiralled on into more bickering and veiled insults.

_“You think just lighting them on fire would work?”_ Bevin asked her second conscious, eyeing the unused fireplace.

_“You_ do _mean the papers, dear?”_ the voice teased, prompting the vivid imagery of lighting up the two other Mages by the seats of their pants.  She earned an approving laugh, but the spirit conceded that she was unsure what effect, if any, that attempting to destroy the papers via fire would have.

_“Well, I mean, that’s what they usually end up doing in shows in this kind of scenario, though I can’t quite think of one exactly like this.  Usually it comes down to either destroying the item or returning it back to where it came from.”_  Right?  She never thought she’d be in a place where she found herself wishing she had paid more attention to the little details in her binge shows.

A shrug.   _“I shall defer to your judgment in this area.  I cannot say that you are at any true disadvantage in this particular area knowledge-wise compared to these two.”_

_“Well, if this doesn’t work, I see no reason why sending the damn ashes back wouldn’t then be an option.”_  With that, she set her food tray aside and hopped up.  Solas and Dorian had taken to scrawling out their ideas across pages of parchment while Nichole looked on bored.

Bevin snatched the papers out of Nikki’s lap, who was too stunned to protest.  Now in her hands, Bevin could sense that they did feel strange as she walked over to the fireplace and knelt down.  She tossed the lot in, chased by a quick fire spell.

As it began burning, the fire swelled with a burst of energy, sending up a bevy of green sparks and smoke.

Bevin covered her face with her sleeve and kicked herself back from the flames in alarm.  A barrier was placed at the mouth of the fireplace to keep the smoke from rushing out further.  Bevin heard the door open and a chair was dragged over to prop it open.  A puff of a magicked gust and the rest of the smoke was driven from the hut.  The fire continued to burn hot and angry behind the barrier, but the smoke was now driven upwards.

“Bevin…”  Hacking up the rest of the smoke from her lungs, Bevin turned to find Solas staring down at her disapprovingly.  “What have I said about fire in the house?”  He gave a sigh and began picking up papers that had been scattered around the hut when the smoke had been driven away.  “That was reckless,” he admonished.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on her!” Dorian defended.  “It appears to have worked.”

_“With minimal poking and prodding with us, I might add,”_ the voice in her head cheered.   _“Although, now the Herald knows you have ‘weird-ass magic’ that you have been keeping secret from her.”_

“Yeah!  Like you two buttheads would’ve come up with anything in a timely manner.”  Bevin settled back on her bed to finish her food.  It had gone cold, but a quick glyph drawing and the plate began to heat up. _“Maybe she’ll forget,”_ she replied to the spirit, not highly concerned about that right now.

“I’m sure we’ll know pretty fast if it actually worked or not.  I was having those visions almost daily.  Now, excuse me while I eat and then sleep the rest of the day away.”  And probably most of tomorrow, too.  Hopefully, the recurring visions would be gone, but that didn’t mean that the events wouldn’t try to resurface in her thoughts and dreams.  It would probably be awhile yet before she felt well enough to re-enter the Fade at night.  If Solas didn’t drag her there anyway to chide her some more over her actions today.

 

* * *

 

Nikki stood outside Bevin’s hut taking in the beginnings of that evening’s sunset while waiting for the guys to leave the domicile.  While she’d planned to tell the others about the impending departure tomorrow, getting swept up in this mess had caused her to forget about it completely.

She grabbed them when they finally appeared and dragged them off a ways with little protest.  “So,” she began hesitantly, unsure of how they’d take this, either, “probably both the best _and_ worst time to bring this up.  But, there are plans to head out to the Storm Coast tomorrow.  I got caught up in this...stuff,” she waved a hand at the hut, “and forgot about it.”  Nikki saw their faces begin to sour as they undoubtedly began thinking through the logistics and hurried to explain the changes she had thought up.  “Bevin's not gonna like it, but she's not really in a good enough condition to travel all the way out there right now.  I'll take Varric, Vivienne, and Cassandra up there with me.  You two can stay behind and continue to work this _thing_ out with her if burning the papers didn’t work.”

Dorian nodded along, agreeing with the plan.  “The Mages are due to begin arriving, so, if nothing else, we can help get them situated in the meantime.”

Solas seemed more hesitant, knowing full well _why_ they were going up to the Storm Coast, but she knew he wouldn’t leave Bevin here alone while she still potentially had these visions to deal with.  In the end, he swung the exact way she had known he would.

Nikki grinned, glad that this looked to be working out.  “If she does get better, and restless or something, there's some matter in the Hinterlands that she's been itching to look into.  Most of the rifts have been cleared, so I'm not really needed down there anyway, at least.  And we have a good presence in the area now, so I hopefully won't have to worry too much.”  
  
“Drag Sera along, too, if you go, so she doesn’t get bored here and start looking for trouble.”


	13. The Green-Eyed Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bevin makes an interesting discovery and a new “friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fancy has a tumblr now! Come find me at mrfancyfoot.tumblr.com for all the "inbetween" writing stuff (updates, musings, artwork, etc, etc). I also have a new side piece to SAR entitled "The Schematics" - go check that out for more SAR prompts and drabbles and silliness.
> 
> We're gonna really stretch some various mythoi (which Google tells me is the plural of 'mythos') in this chapter, haha.
> 
> Solas' thoughts are all over the place (but hopefully not terribly difficult to read), and Bevin pretty much operates around her stomach.
> 
> This chapter has been split in two, so this section is quite a bit shorter than I prefer. It was getting to be far too much and jumpy, so I've separated the rest of the Hinterlands stuff where it turns back to Bevin's POV. I'm still wrapping up the second part, but we'll be meeting Blackwall and dealing with some wolves! :D

* * *

Solas watched them from across the top of his book. He had never before given the scout much thought - it took a moment to even recall his name as Kalen Highridge - though knew he was ever around to help guard Bevin by orders of the Nightingale. With their recent decision to foray into the wilds of the Hinterlands once more, it had been decided that _he_ would tag along as frontline support as the rest of the group - made up of three Mages and Sera, much to her loud, _continued_ dismay - specialized more in distanced battle.

And now _he_ sat with her before the fire laughing and flirting as he taught her the nuances of some card game.

He hated the way _he_ looked at her. He hated more the way _she_ looked at _him_.

Softly, welcomingly, teasingly.

The days leading up to the excursion had been torturous, yet somehow not as bad as _now_. Watching as they rode side by side, as they huddled before their nightly campfires together.

Destroying the papers in the fire, though beyond foolishly hasty, had proven to rid Bevin of the disturbing visions from the alternate future - altogether another complication that he would have to delve more into himself. But they didn't chase off the nightmares that now plagued her. He did his best to pull her straight into the Fade at night - assuring her that he would dispel anything that the Fade tried to dredge up from her memories - but her sleep had become scattered hectically through the day due to stress and exhaustion. The dreamless sleep herbs were not always successful.

She had taken to lying next to him as he read at night, commenting on various passages before she'd eventually drift off huddled into his side. He had moved her back to her bed all of once before deciding he did not care enough about propriety to keep doing so. He wanted her there; she wanted to be there. The nightmares became fewer.

While seeming to get better day by day, Bevin began getting restless. There was little for her to do around Haven that did not involve her studies and training. Convinced that a change of scenery would be of help, she had sought out the Nightingale to flesh out plans to return to the Hinterlands to chase the rumor of a Grey Warden in the area. They would depart alongside a small supply envoy in a week's time.

The following day he had returned to the hut to find books and notes scattered about wildly, covering the beds and desks and floor, with _him_ sitting in _his_ chair.

Bevin, struck by _something_ \- said to be from a part of conversation she had with the cooking help - had taken it upon herself to begin delving into the tomes of Elvhen lore and history found scattered about the Chantry. Not the best sources of information that could be considered anywhere near accurate or unbiased, which she had noted herself, but she had begun taking fairly extensive notes, comparing facets from each book and journal.

And the _human scout_ was her springing board.

She paced about, talking out loud and incessantly scribbling things down, appearing quite excited about whatever she had discovered.

What she had found seemed to be confirmation of some form of link between their worlds - one that gave him great pause for the implications. Written upon parchment pinned to the walls were comparison charts for the Elvhen Evanuris to what looked to be several religious pantheons and figures from her world.

She had more than one page written up for Fen'Harel, which he forced himself to pass up in favor of unpinning the page dedicated to Andruil.

' _Elvhen goddess of the Hunt. "Sister of the moon." Symbols: hare, hawk. Had messenger owl? "Created a great and terrible weapon, a throwing spear of unbearable heat, crafted from the radiance of stars." Turned Ghilain'nain into a halla/deer._

_See also: Artemis, Greek goddess of the moon, the hunt, and maidens. Symbols: the moon, deer._

_See also: Athena, Greek goddess of war and wisdom. Statues of Athena frequently shown with owl. Something about a spear.'_

There was more, including scribblings about in the margins, but he replaced it in favor of scrutinizing the rest. Hera, mother-goddess of the Greeks, noted beneath Mythal. Elgar'nan, June, Falon'Din.

Fen'Harel. A _number_ of pages dedicated to stories and supposed history, along with her own notes. Compared to Hermes, clever trouble-maker god of the Greeks. Lucifer of Christian mythology. Loki, trickster god of the Norse, had quite a bit written about him. _Fenrir._ The name was circled with an arrow pointing down. Books were lying on the floor open, parchment upon them with more writing.

Going back to the name, he read what came after with great interest and no little amount of trepidation.

' _Fenrir, wolf of Norse mythology. Son of Loki. Raised by the Aesir gods and eventually bound to keep him under their control. Bites off the hand of Tyr when he can't break free of Dwarven-crafted chains. Breaks free at Ragnarok, where he kills the god Odin and devours the sun and moon. See also: story of the binding of the gods; the Golden/Black City.'_

It went on. And on.

Bevin had stopped her pacing to watch him closely as he took in her multitudes of writings. She was worrying her lip, appearing restless to further share her thoughts with him. The moment he looked over to her, the words began pouring out from her, "Sorry, you were off doing stuff, and I didn't want to disturb you with my crazy ramblings over nothing. But you know how the Fade shows dreams and history? That some people are able to actually _go_ there and see them and even influence others? How certain circumstances can lead to people sharing dreams?" She shoved a pair of books aside on her bed and grabbed the paper previously hidden beneath them. "What if there is some kind of dimensional effect? People from _my_ world capable of the same thing- or, or something _similar_ , anyway."

She moved to stand beside him, gesturing with a finger to a line splitting the page with notations. "If I'm getting the timeline right, the creation of the Veil would have happened right around the beginning of certain recorded events and mythos creation in my world. Which also means that the two worlds may have a similar passage of time."

She was looking for some kind of affirmation for her efforts. But she was getting too deep - far too quickly - into something that he, himself, did not fully comprehend. This was not an avenue he could have _dreamed_ would have been an issue, thus he had no preconceived means of steering her in these inquiries.

Bevin had written down fables and stories - attributed to others, but she found the occasional word or link to hint at some connection of sorts to Fen'Harel - that he _knew_ for which there were no or very few written accounts. The Dalish had their oral tales, but she would not have reliable access to many of those. Even in the books before him, it appeared that she had access to only a few footnotes about Fen'Harel in the first place. Looking to her notes on the rest of the Evanuris showed that she had done the same there with bits of remembered stories and facets of their lives.

He was truthful in his response, that it fascinated him. That he would need some time to go over her work and compare it to his own knowledge of the events. Not that _he_ had anything from her world with which to compare to the Elvhen events, though her written accounts alone were proof that she was likely onto something.

Solas could not tear his eyes away from her musings on Fen'Harel.

It felt odd to be reading this here, with someone else's name attached, no less - and Bevin assured that she threw in any and _everything_ she could think of that sounded even remotely relevant, sure that many really had nothing to do with the Elvhen gods or people. But this _was_ one of the more forgotten tales of his time as Fen'Harel. ' _Two women came before King Solomon each claiming a baby as their own. They demanded that the king settle the dispute. He demanded a sword, announcing that the baby would be cut in half so that each woman may have the baby. One shouted to stop, to give the baby to the other woman so that he would at least live. One shouted to proceed so that neither would have a baby. The baby was awarded to the rightful mother.'_

Among everything else that he had done, it was a rather minor affair to have squabbling whores approaching him at court. At the time, his behavior could even be considered to have been mild and tame. Had he not seen the story written out, he likely would not have remembered it.

Solas bit back the curse that formed on his tongue. He wasn't ready for her to be pursuing this and the questions it would undoubtedly provoke. Bevin was astute enough that if he misspoke _now_ , it _would_ come back to haunt him. At the same time, he wanted to cheer, to tell her that she was on to something - multiple things, even! She was on the path to potentially unraveling everything by herself.

It terrified him. It did horrible things to his insides. He wanted so badly to pull her over and kiss her.

The situation had been temporarily defused when she mentioned the need for food.

Then she had walked off with _him_ to acquire nourishment. Laughing at something he said.

He was left watching after them, papers still clutched within his stiff grip, wishing that he was the one walking beside her, but simultaneously glad for the granted reprieve from the woman who knew too much for her own good.

That was the night she had returned to her own bed. To read, to study, to sleep.

It took a time to admit to himself, but...

He was jealous.

And _oh_ , so petty a creature.

Days past and the scout remained close. He thought he had handled himself fine at first, keeping himself to minor tricks. Moving a rock _just so_ for a foot to trip. Loosening that stack of firewood to come unbound once picked up.

But then they started sneaking off together.

He couldn't come out and forbid her from seeing the boy - knowing Bevin she would rebel and do it more. That rare temper would be turned upon him.

No, he started getting creative with his guard summons. Highridge was directly beneath the Nightingale and often called to her side when certain information came to their notice.

Merchants arriving speaking about bandits on the near roads? He made sure it got to ears that would immediately take it directly to the Spymaster. Then he would watch as she dispatched a guard to seek out Highridge.

Bevin would return frustrated, but, unfortunate to this situation, she was also the very understanding type. The boy got many more chances than he had expected. A part of him felt bad for sabotaging their happiness, saying that she would be far better off with someone else. It was small and easily ignored.

He could no longer even pass this off to himself as mere necessity to keep the Seer close. He greatly enjoyed her company, her soft touch, the scent of her hair, that crooked grin she'd flash. The captivating challenge she presented at every turn. How he _lusted_ for it all. And now that she was seeking out another, the desire to give chase was becoming overwhelming.

Perhaps it was their proximity, but he had not exactly done anything to change their living situation once it became clear that she could handle herself as a Mage. No, he had purposefully continued to keep her this close.

The future direction of his plans depended on how their imminent confrontation of the Breach faired. He had high hopes for the Herald being able to close it for good. With every rift closed, the anchor grew in power. And power returned to him.

In the meanwhile, his research stilled, his thoughts wandered. There was only so much that he could do at this time. So he plotted.

What to do to win over Bevin?

This was a time when the Herald's sense of misplaced romance advice would have been more than welcome, yet she was days off into the excursion to the Storm Coast. If he was to pursue his charge, he needed to make sure that he didn't fall afoul of any wider taboo to their society and customs. While it was otherwise fairly common, even just shy of expected in some circles, for an affair to come forth from a mentoring relationship within Elvhen society, he had to remind himself once more that she was neither Elvhen nor of this world. His own expectations would do him little good against someone who was completely ignorant of them. While Bevin was certainly more open minded than most, power structures and social mores tended to become very ingrained.

Either he could take advantage of the state of their relationship, or he'd have to bring her around some other way.

Now, the scout needed to be circumvented or otherwise dispatched somehow. Not that he saw him as any particular threat.

...

"Keep that look up and something's going to catch fire." Dorian broke him from his reverie. Seating himself next to him, the Mage picked at meat freshly pulled from the spitted nugs moved from roasting above their campfire. He gave Solas a knowing look before watching Sera plod down next to the other two, turning their quiet conversation loud and rambunctious.

"So, which one has drawn your ire?" Dorian asked, though continued on speaking within a one-sided conversation. "Sera's a common target, but the lizard in your bedroll was days ago, and you've been so covertly spying since before she joined them." He hummed in faux thought.

Solas knew this entire talk was nothing more than Dorian looking to prod him into reacting to entertain himself. He tolerated the haughty man at best, still not pleased that the Inquisition had so readily accepted the Tevinter Mage among their ranks.

"Bevin's a sweet girl. I cannot imagine anything she could have done to anger her _mentor_." He practically sang the word under his breath, so sure was he that he had correctly read the situation. He was not far off. Though, to be frank, that aspect of their relationship bore little relevance to him in the matter of things. "Now, what could _Kalen_ have done? Handsome, broody scout swooping into your lives from the shadows. Stealing up all the attention of _your_ student. Hm." He acted as though some grand answer had struck him, "Or maybe it's his _hair_. So full and soft, with wonderful body…"

His eyes narrowed, and he had just opened his mouth to tell the other Mage to stop talking when Bevin's voice called out over the fire, ringing with annoyance, "Oh, _play nice,_ you two." She must have glanced over and noticed his souring countenance towards Dorian. This was becoming a very common demand from her.

Dorian flashed him a toothy grin, but finished his meal in silence.

Solas went back to reading - or at least put forth more effort into appearing to be reading while eavesdropping on those across from him.


	14. We Probably Do Need Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started going on forever, so I eventually had to break it off again (it's getting past 12k after I already broke off the first part and posted it as chapter 13). The...third? part should be getting posted tomorrow, maaaybe monday.

* * *

It was nice being back in the Hinterlands again.  Still not as warm as she would prefer, but so much nicer than up in the Frostbacks at Haven.  Once again, she never thought she’d miss grass and flowing water so much.

They managed to arrive in the early hours of the day, and leisurely made their way to the Crossroads to replenish supplies.  Bevin, for one, was excited to get some actual food for the road instead of preserved rations.  Cassandra always made them feel bad, stating that they should be happy having any food at all out here where it was scarce.  Her current companions were much more agreeable.

Lace Harding met them at the Crossroads with a few other scouts.  She took the time to help mark new camps, sightings, and spots of interest on their map.  While the others took time to look over some of the current merchant wares, Bevin caught up with the woman.

“Planning on moving some of us out soon.”  Lace marked a spot where a bridge had been repaired.  “We have a pretty good hold here, now, so we need to push on.”

Bevin could see the logic in that.  “Where are you planning on heading next?” she asked.

The other redhead shrugged.  “We’re still deliberating, though I have a few areas in mind.  I’m waiting on some intel to get back, but we’re planning on returning to Haven first, anyway, since the rebel Mages should be finished trickling in within the next couple of weeks.”

After the two groups got back - hers and Nikki’s up at the Storm Coast - they’d be tackling the Breach again with the help of the Mages. The Storm Coast was much further away, though Nikki had a good week and a few day’s head start on them and should be arriving there around this time.  Bevin estimated that they’d all be back in Haven within about two weeks, given that Nikki’s group wasn’t planning on staying at their destination past meeting with the mercenary group.  Then, with how antsy everyone was - and there was no doubt that the advisors were well into planning how everything would go down - they’d probably march on the Breach soon after arriving home.

Hopefully, they’d be able to putz around here for a bit with only minor inconveniences while looking for the Grey Warden.  The land was so nice and peaceful - when bandits and bears weren’t chasing them.

She was beginning to regret starting this _thing_ , whatever it was, with Kalen.  The guy was great and all...but…so _boring_.  But was it really him or was she just beginning to get use to being surrounded by all these fantastical people?

He had stories, many of them.  But while the material was generally interesting, he could not, for the life of him, tell them in any kind of relatable or entertaining manner.  Frankly, he put her to sleep.  Teaching her how to play Wicked Grace was the most fun she’d gotten out of the guy.

Sure, she wanted to get laid something fierce, and he seemed perfectly capable and willing, but it was getting harder and harder to be able to ignore how utterly plain and lacking the guy was beyond his good looks and combat abilities.  She was tired of laughing at his horrible jokes.  He never got tired of laughing at his own horrible jokes.

Considering how difficult it was to get the guy alone for any good length of time anyway, she was just this side of giving up on the cause completely.  Other things were making her pull back more.

Recently, it felt as though he was interrogating her with oddly pointed questions.  Conversations would come back around to specific topics.  He only brushed off her inquiries over his unrelenting interest, quieting for a day or so before starting back up again.  Bevin wondered if there was a reason behind him wanting to know more about Solas - that he couldn’t just ask him himself? - more about her linguistic proficiency, specifics about her past schooling, where she was at in specific magic studies, how she was handling herself at night within her dreams.  He was “concerned” about how close she was with the elf.

They were things that would probably come up organically from someone interested in her.  But there was just _something_ in the way that he asked...

That spirit in her head, once all for her pursuit of the man, highly encouraging even, was now critical and techy whenever he’d come around.

“ _Oh, he is so lackluster.  It is such a travesty.”_  Her second conscience spoke up, breaking her of the internal monologue.  “‘ _Ma da’isenatha, we need a_ real _man.”_  

Bevin snorted, nearly forgetting not to respond aloud and catching herself at the last moment.  She ignored the acquired pet name. “ _We?”_  She passed it off as a sneeze when Lace looked over questioningly.

“ _It is not as though I will be going anywhere in the near future.”_  Bevin didn’t think the spirit, or whatever she was, was planning on leaving for at least quite some time, if at all.  “ _Not a whole lot of..._ action _in the Fade.”_

The more the spirit ‘spoke,’ the more she seemed to be modernizing her speech after her own.  That soft accent was still there; that lilt to her words that so closely matched that of Solas’ speech.  She often spoke bits that Bevin quickly recognized as Elven.  Between that and the nudged suggestion that she research the Elvhen pantheon, she had soon drawn the conclusion that the spirit was Elvhen in nature.

And she had to have been a _very_ old spirit - Bevin recalled that she said she’d roamed the Fade for millennia - potentially from the time of the height of Arlathan or before.  Said spirit was still avoiding telling her of any of her background or of who she was, but neither confirming nor denying of her thoughts.  However, she _was_ the one who pushed her to begin researching the old Elvhen pantheon, so it was likely a hint as to her identity or at least something relevant.  It was odd thinking all this knowing that the one in question could listen in on all of it.

“ _So, living vicariously through_ my _relationships.  Not creepy at all._ Completely _not like I have a voyeur in my own head.”_  Bevin rolled up the map, bidding a reluctant farewell to Scout Harding, and turned to go find the rest of the group.

“ _I do miss the touch of another,”_ the spirit bemoaned.  Bevin chose to ignore the comment, not particularly wanting to talk about the spirit’s past love life in any kind of explicit detail right now.  She was kind of curious, though…  She tried not to think _that_ too hard.

“ _And I know that you’ve had some misgivings over him of late, but I, too, am fairly certain that your boy is a part of a more...nefarious scheme.  You would do well to watch your words around him,”_ the spirit confirmed her suspicions.

If true, he was most likely an agent on behalf of Leliana, which made Bevin feel rather betrayed.  She had thought that she and the Nightingale were close enough that they could talk freely.  Maybe the Spymaster sensed that she was hiding something.  Still - to send another to suss out information by way of seducing it out of her?

Not far from a vendor, Solas was packing supplies into his satchel while casting some serious shade towards the scout of their party.

“ _Wonder what his problem is?”_ she mentally vocalized, wondering if the spirit had been paying any more attention to the elf than herself.  “ _He’s been so grumpy lately.”_

“That _mind is always an enigma.”_  Oddly, sometimes the spirit spoke as though she knew Solas.  But she was a spirit, and he was often in the Fade - had they met at some point?  “ _Maybe he is unwelcoming of new people into our little group.  He still does not trust Dorian.  But perhaps he merely doesn’t like this_ thing _with the scout, for one reason or another.”_  She finally imparted, “ _You’ve rather ignored him lately.”_

“ _That seems like a weird thing for him to be upset about.  I thought I was bothering him being around all the time.  Even freaking sleeping in his bed like some scared little kid.”_  He always had that aloof air of a loner, an introvert.  All the hours he spent training and helping her could have gone towards his research or dreaming in the Fade or reading whatever.

In her recent... _time_ of weakness, she had become embarrassingly clingy.  It didn’t help that in her nightmare visions the other Solas had been one of the only things keeping her sane while captured.  She hadn’t told him of the calmer visions where he’d spun tales from his own cell, going on as he could about ancient Arlathan and other Elvhen marvels and wonders.  Stories about the gods.  Stories about his past travels and spirits and everything he’d encountered in the Fade.  She’d often only gotten to hear small parts due to the nature of the visions, but it was enough that she wanted to hear more.  But not in his usual lecturing tone.  She wanted to hear him speak with that same low, wistful voice as he had in her visions, that he had that first night she’d fallen asleep next to him after telling him about the visions of the Red Future.

A pair of hands coming down on her shoulders startled her from her thoughts.  “We goin’ off now, yer Holiness?”  Sera’s head popped around her with a grin.

Crooking an eyebrow at the woman’s invasive gesture, Bevin shared what she’d been told, “Yeah, there’s a camp to the west that Lace says is in the area of the last sighting of whoever they think this Grey Warden may be.  She said the man spotted has, and I quote, ‘quite the beard.’”

“Oh, that’s _real_ helpful.  Surely not a lot of _those_ ‘round ‘ere,” she complained, trouncing off a ways again.

Bevin shrugged, she was in partial agreement, but Lace was good at her duties.  “Well, he supposedly goes by the name ‘Blackwall,’ so that’s a bit more to go off of,” she yelled after Sera.

“ _You should try speaking with him,”_ the spirit piped up again as she moved to their meeting spot with Sera to wait on the others.

“ _Who, now?”_ Bevin asked distractedly.

“ _Solas?”_ the spirit sighed in exasperation.

She watched the man in question walk up, greeting him with a smile that hopefully revealed nothing of her current internal debate.  “ _And talk about what exactly?  ‘Yo, why ya so glum lately?  And what’s your beef with Kalen?’  Though maybe he’s picked up on the same thing we have.”_

Bevin knew that the spirit was shaking her head at her.  “ _I very much doubt that he sees you as the burden that you seem to believe you are.  He may be your hahren, but that does not oblige him to go out of his way for you as he has done.  At the very least, he cares for you.”_

They all regrouped and started making their way towards their mounts.  Bevin ran her hand down the nose of her purple hart, whom she’d lovingly named Appa, in greeting.

“ _Talk to him,”_ the spirit bid again.

“ _Ugh, fine,_ mom!” she gave in with a pout of her lips.  She’d attempt to approach him the next quiet moment they had where she could get him away from the group.  Not normally a difficult task at all, but they all mostly stuck together out in the wilds.

* * *

“There’s no way that’s _not_ him.”  Coming around the bend of the lake revealed an armored man pacing before a small group of what appeared to be farmers wielding crude makeshift shields and weapons.  He turned to the side and began demonstrating a basic sword thrust and defense technique.

“That _is_ some beard.” Sera whistled her apparent awe.  “So, now that we’ve found Beardy, what we doin’ ‘ere for?”

Bevin clarified for her, “Asking him questions about the sudden disappearance of Grey Wardens.”  She hummed, thinking over exactly what they needed to ask him.  She didn’t have a whole lot to go by aside from what Leliana had told her about the past purpose of the Wardens.  How formal should she be about all this?  Ugh, Nikki was better in this area of ‘representing the Inquisition’ than she was.

“So…” she drawled out, “who’s doing the talking?”

“You,” came the mixed reply from several voices.

She could have seen that one coming.  As talkative as they all were in their little groups, none of them were exactly keen on first contact.  Bevin rolled her eyes and scoffed.  “I think you’re all overestimating my diplomatic abilities here.”

Dorian raised his hands in defense of his choice.  “ _You’re_ the one who wanted to come all the way out here.  I have complete faith in you.”

“Okay, well, y'all stay here, then.  Not a one of us exactly looks threatening, but I don’t want him reacting defensively to the whole group pouncing on him.”  She slowly made her way around the rest of the lake, using the time to get her nerves up and the right questions and words in mind.  She felt the cooling drift of familiar shielding magic settle onto her skin.  Bevin wanted to turn around and tell the elf that she could handle herself, but knew it wasn’t worth arguing over right now.

“ _See?  He does not have to look out for you in such manner.”_  The spirit gloated.  Bevin wondered where _she’d_ been half the day.  The woman sounded sleepy.  Did spirits sleep?

“ _Maybe he just thinks that I’m_ that _inept at protecting myself, but I’m not getting back into that with you right now.  You know anything that could help me out here?”_ she asked the spirit in a last ditch effort to get some kind of advantage in this situation.

“ _Unfortunately, you know as much as I.  We will not know more until we speak with him.”_  Bevin hated when she was right.

She could more clearly hear the man instructing the farmhands now, his voice a deep, calm timber, “Keep focused.  Remember how to carry your shields.  You’re _holding_ it, not hiding behind it.  It’s a tool, and you use it.  Just as you use your weapons.  Don’t let it become useless weight.”

Well, the best way to approach this, she supposed, was directly.  Bevin began marching purposefully towards the man.  “Hey, yo! Are you Blackwall?” she chirped in greeting.  She wasn’t good at formal, so she’d do what she was good at.

Said man rounded on his heel to face her, sword at the ready and confusion clear on his brow.  He looked her over with a scowl.  “How do you know my name?  And who _are_ you?”

 _Score!_  She was right!  Smiling cheerfully, she answered back, “So you _are_ actually Warden Blackwall?  I’m Bevin, and I’m here on behalf of the Inquisition.”  She held her arm out in standard greeting, but he merely eyed her suspiciously.  She retracted her arm, trying hard not to appear too awkward in the act.  This was a _great_ start.  “We just have some questions pertaining to the Grey Wardens.”

“Well, you-” Blackwall was interrupted.

A shrill whistle broke through the air, a warning call that meant that Kalen had spotted approaching danger.  Bevin’s shoulders slouched as she cursed.  Always interruptions.  Focusing, she picked up on the energy signatures descending on them from the surrounding high ground to the west.

The incoming rain of arrows was fended off by the Warden’s shield and Bevin’s newly erected barrier.

“Pardon, but we’ll be dealing with these idiots first.”  He turned towards the unsure looking lot of farmers and barked a rallying command, “Conscripts, at your ready!”

A troop of apparent thieves ran down from the forest with less organization than a pack of rabid raccoons.  There didn’t seem to be any coordination or reason among them, so Bevin didn’t expect this to be much of a fight, just more of a nuisance.

“ _Oh, perfect - moving target practice!”_ squealed the voice merrily.  “ _No glyphs!  Can’t have you getting dependent on the things.”_

“ _What?”_ she exclaimed.  Why would she stop using something so helpful now?

She got the distinct impression that the spirit was rolling her eyes at her.  “ _They’re dumb and slow.  If you have not yet noticed, targeting glyphs, among many others, do not work on actual Templars.  And likely not on most Mages of any real worth.  While it is vastly useful, it is best not to get reliant.”_

“ _Fine,”_ she grumbled internally.  Picking out two thieves that had taken up chasing one of the farmer men, Bevin sized up the closet and pulled out her knives from the pouch at her side.

She wanted to feel the sizzle and spark of her magic along the edges of the weapon, but she’d have to activate the glyphs to retain it.  Since that was out of the question for the moment, she let it fly at the thief as is.  Already seeing that it was going to miss, she prepared a second that quickly followed as the first glanced past the man’s shoulder.  The thief turned his attention to her direction, his new stance providing a wider area to hit.  The second blade sank into his abdomen, and he let out a pained yell before fully disengaging the farmhand and staggering a charge towards her instead, wooden ax swinging back high above his head.

Bevin swung her staff over her shoulder and summoned forth an arc of electricity that connected with the steel blade still buried in his flesh.  The charge, given an easy avenue, jolted through him, frying and searing skin in its wake.  She watched his eyes roll back as his body fell to the ground still seizing with the occasional spark dancing off it.

This had the added effect of spooking the nearest thief enough that the conscript with whom he’d been exchanging blows was able to get in a very clear strike, taking out the bandit for good with a second.

After making sure that her thief wasn’t going to be getting back up but by the power of necromancy, Bevin collected her thrown knives and joined the others who were in various states of dispatching the final intruders.  The conflict had been dealt with very swiftly.

“ _Your throws have a tendency to fall wide to the left,”_ the spirit advised.  “ _Had he not made the idiotic choice to then move towards the path of the first projectile, your second could have missed as well.”_

She gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“ _Now that you’ve bonded over battling a common enemy, the Warden may be more amenable to questions.”_  The spirit gave her a mental cheer and shove to continue her talk with the man.

The rest of her group stayed nearer than before, but gave them some distance still.  Walking up to Blackwall as he knelt over a body to inspect it, she heard him heave a sigh.  He stood and addressed his conscripts once more, “I am sorry you all had to go through that, but good work.  It shouldn’t have happened, but, well…  Thieves are made, not born.”

Bevin couldn’t help but smile.  This was the first time she’d met anyone here who’d outwardly given such a view on criminals without any prompting.

“Take back what they stole!” he commanded, pointing over the hill to where the bandits had come from and had a likely camp nearby.  “Go back to your families.  You saved yourselves this day.”

Once they had headed off, the Warden turned back towards her.  He thrust his sword into the ground next to him, then crossed his arms and looked her over again.  “So, _you’re_ definitely no farmer.  How do you know my name?”

“The Inquisition has its eyes and ears,” she explained.  With as little as they knew, there wasn’t anything to give away yet, aside from the current lack of information.  “I came here to speak with you as a Grey Warden.  We’re investigating to see if the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the murder of the Divine or with what otherwise happened at the Conclave.”

“Maker’s _balls_ ,” he cursed, taken aback.  “The Wardens and the Divine?  No, you’re asking because you really don’t know.”  His countenance and stance turned defensive.  “First off, I didn’t know they’d disappeared.  But we do that, right?  No more blight, no more Wardens.  When we get the job done, the Wardens are the first thing forgotten.”

He really had to have been off the grid.  He clearly had no idea who she was or at least hadn’t cared enough to look into the more peculiar details of what happened at the Conclave.  Unless he had actual information about the Wardens, this current lead was drying up.

“But no Warden killed the Divine.  Our purpose isn’t political,” he finished, seeming very sure of his words.  He was very protective of the Grey Wardens and their reputation.

“I’m not here to accuse anyone of anything,” she tried to pacify his worries.  He came across as being very genuine, so appealing to his sense of goodness and loyalty should be the best path here.  “We’re just looking for information.  It’s one of our few leads, so…”  She asked the first question in her mental list of things to inquire about, “Well, you’re here - where are the rest?”

Blackwall shrugged.  “Haven’t seen any Wardens in months.  I travel alone, recruiting.”  Crap, so he wasn’t going to be much help, if any, in this matter.  “Not much interest in these times since the archdemon is a decade dead.  No need to conscript because there’s no blight coming.  Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, who we need.”  So there was a good chance that the Wardens had less ‘disappeared’ and may have just, like him, dropped off the grid.  This world didn’t have phones and the internet and digital paper trails to keep track of anyone or find people.

He nudged the body at their feet with his boot.  “These thieving idiots forced this fight, harassing and stealing from those in this valley, so I conscripted their victims.  Next time, they won’t need me.  Wardens can inspire; make you better than you think you are.”

Bevin sighed.  If he hadn’t even seen any of the Wardens in a long time, her other questions were pretty pointless right now.  “Well, thank-you for speaking with me.  Pardon us for intruding like this, Warden Blackwall.  We’ll be on our way then, if there’s nothing else?”

The man, now rather crestfallen, looked to be truly disappointed that he couldn’t be of more help to them.  “Bevin, was it?” he struck up again.  “The Divine is dead and the sky is torn.  Thinking we’re absent in these times, is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.  If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden.  Maybe you need me.”

She grinned at the man, extending a hand to him once more.  “We’d certainly love to have ya.”  This time he reached forward and clasped her hand firmly within his own, determination on his brow.

“We’re currently located at the keep in Haven, up in the Frostback Mountains,” Bevin explained.  “You can make your way there yourself, if you’d like, or you can join us.  We could use your help when we march on the Breach again, though.”  Especially if the man actually had experience battling demons.  There was no telling what new crap would spew from the Breach.  It had required several people to take out the one Pride demon last time, not counting the many others it had taken just to control the flood of lesser demons.  “Now that we’ve done what we came here to do, we’ll be making our way back there soon.”

“I don’t have much left to take care of here, I suppose.”  The Warden scratched his chin in thought.  “Though there was the matter of a pack of wolves being a nuisance to the farmlands a bit north of here, on the other side of these hills.  I’ve heard reports that they may be demon possessed.”

Bevin motioned for the others to gather round.  “I think we should have some time to be able to look into that.”  After she introduced the rest of the group, she briefly recounted what the Warden had shared about the wolf problem.

After some back and forth with Dorian, she decided to put it to a vote.  Kalen didn’t care.  The Warden and Solas were all for looking into it.  Sera and Dorian were sick of traipsing through the wilderness.

Bevin gave a shrug.  She didn’t think it would be all that intensive and offered up a compromise.  “Fine, you and Sera can report back on our status with Scout Harding at the camp and help her write up a draft for a Raven to send off back to Haven.  I don’t think we’ll take longer than a day or two.”  This would give her the added benefit of sparing Solas from Dorian for at least a short time.

Although now that he had an alternate option, Dorian actually looked quite reluctant.  Sera jabbed at his ribs, “What’dya say, twinkletoes?  You an’ me?”

Clearly on the fence about something he took a moment to decide.  “Don’t do anything stupid!” he quipped towards the others, settling a pointed look on Bevin, before agreeing to accompany Sera back.  Pulling her aside he divulged that he was anxious for a raven correspondence to return from Redcliffe.  A Tevene friend still in the area may have relevant information for her regarding her magic.

After Blackwall gathered up what little he had, they began walking back around the lake to stop by the nearby Inquisition camp for their mounts.

Bevin, however, came to a halt mid-stride looking out into the lake.  A little ways into the crystalline waters something was glinting brightly in the sun.  She squinted trying to figure out what it was.  Screwing up her face in thought, she wondered if it would be worth it to wade out there to retrieve whatever it was.

Dorian stopped by her and made a similar face.  “It’s probably just a piece of glass.”

She made a sound of disagreement.  “It has some sort of presence.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, then furrowed as he focused on the object.  “I suppose it does,” he mused.

Making up her mind, she reached down and quickly unlaced her boots to yank them off.  She did the same with her leggings, then hiked her robes further up as she waded out into the cold water.

The rocky waterbed was uncomfortable on her feet, but it didn’t take her long to to where she thought the object was.  Water well past her knees, she carefully shuffled around until she caught that glint once more.  It was small enough that she could carefully pick whatever it was up with her toes.  Palming the object, she returned to the shore.

Dorian took a closer look.  “Lovely, a _fancy_ piece of glass.”

“It feels weird,” Bevin countered.  She had no idea what it could be, though.  The object was very plain aside from the bit of strange energy surrounding it.  This close she could even now see tiny wisps of mana.  It was a shard of something, so were there more?  Was it a part of something bigger?

She passed it to Solas who immediately cocked his head curiously and frowned upon touching it.  He held it to the sun.  “This is imbued with some sort of enchantment or energy.  It does not appear dangerous, however.  It may be worth looking into further.”

Drying herself, Bevin redressed.  “Sounds like something _you_ should hold onto, then.”  The elf readily agreed and continued turning it this way and that as they returned to the path that would lead them back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> “‘Ma da’isenatha” is elven for “My little dragon."  
> “Hahren” is a kind of elven honorific or title for “elder.” In this case, it’s akin to “mentor” or “teacher.”
> 
> Most elven used is courtesy of the work done by FenxShiral.


	15. Always Trouble with Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Part 3 of 3, finally! Get ready for some undead wolves. :D Next chapter we'll be skipping back to Haven. I originally had very different plans for Scout Highridge, but I like this subplot better. This won't be the last of him.
> 
> Happy Hallowe'en, everyone!

 

* * *

They soon split the group and parted ways for the time being. Blackwall was given a spare mount that would serve until he could retrieve his at the farm stable on the other side of the valley.

They would travel north on the west side of the valley until they reached the grounds where wolf activity was most frequently reported. They'd stake out and watch for their movements, going from there. As wolves tended to be evening hunters, they'd be forgoing setting up camp for the night. They all had to be alert and on the lookout. And as the horses and hart were easily spooked by predators like wolves, they'd chosen to temporarily leave their mounts with another of the farms closer to them. The family was very generous in offering food and boarding to them in exchange for investigating the wolves.

"Maybe we should split up and stake different areas," Bevin suggested as she looked across the farmland. "We'd be able to watch more ground." While practical, it would also be very convenient if she could wheedle her way into getting Solas alone. "Sol-"

"A wonderful idea," said elf chimed in over her. "Scout Highridge and I can monitor the river grounds. Bevin, you and Warden Blackwall can do the same for the high grounds." He gestured to the areas in turn with his staff.

She stuttered. _What?_ Kalen was the absolute last person she would have expected him to pair off with. Where was this coming from? And _shit_ , this was gonna ruin her plan.

"This way both groups have a Mage and someone familiar with the territory," he reasoned.

She was too shocked to refute it. Bevin cocked her head, unable to keep the confused suspicion from showing on her face. This smelled fishy, but she had no idea what he could be up to. The others seemed none the wiser that anything could be going on, though Kalen looked a little surprised. This was too interesting a turn to call Solas out on anything, though.

It was a bit odd that he'd so easily let her go off alone with someone they hardly knew. She felt no ill will from the Warden, but if he had a mind to, he could easily give her a difficult time. They'd all remain within reasonable distance of each other, at least.

"Sounds good to me," Blackwall nodded. He turned to her and pointed down the road some ways. "I know of a path that will take us to a good vantage point for viewing the land. What's the rest of our plan here?"

Bevin chastised herself for stalling out like that before blinking and answering the Warden. "The wolves will be coming out soon to hunt with the sun below the horizon now. Unless something looks really weird or they get up to something, we're going to leave them be for now. We want to follow any individuals back to the rest of the pack to make sure we figure out and deal with the actual problem. Their den is probably somewhere close by here."

"I think that is sound enough." Solas was satisfied with her plan.

"I just really hope that we can deal with it ourselves, and it's not a rift we missed," Bevin worried. If the latter was the case, it would have to be monitored until Nichole could travel out to close it. Though if they were lucky, closing the Breach would deal with the smaller rifts as well.

"We should all get a move on, then, as they might go elsewhere if they spot us out in the open," the Warden warned. "No need to make it harder on ourselves."

Parting from the others, Blackwall lead her down the road. They veered off after a ways past the farm to climb up a steep path in the undergrowth. It took them to a nice area with a little coverage that overlooked the land and river far below. Bevin dropped warding glyphs throughout the immediate area - not that there were many things that could take them by surprise up here - and they sat themselves near the cliffside to wait.

Since she figured they should still have some time before any action, Bevin slung her pack from her shoulder and dug out her portion of the wrapped food that the family at the farm had so graciously offered them. She smiled excitedly when feeling that it was still warm. It smelled amazing! Unwrapping it revealed juicy carved chicken, some herby mashed potatoes, and a medley of veggies. Digging out a fork from her bag, she dug in.

Blackwall leaned over her shoulder. "Now that does look mighty fine. I'm not too shabby catching and firin' up what I need out here, but I can always appreciate another's home cooking." She nodded her head in strong agreement. He brought out his own portion to get started on.

The moon was looking to be high and full that night from what she could see of it through the clouds. Though they still glowed dimly with the light from the distant Breach, the valley was becoming quite dark. Their situation may not have been ideal for watching wolves, but the occasional glimpses from the moon gave them some light to work with. Technically, she could cheat with her sense for energy, but she didn't want to tip that too much and give it away yet.

A dim flash of magic from far below signalled that the others were in position as well. Bevin did the same in return. Now they got to play the waiting game.

Blackwall cleared his throat. "So, from where do you hail? Your accent's a bit peculiar there." He rushed to clarify after she laughed, "Not that it's not fine and all, just not one that I think I've come across in my years travelling about."

She bit her lip to calm her giggles. The man really had been living under a rock the past few months. She didn't want to lie to him, but she also didn't really want to repeat all the usual questions and answers again right now. "I'm from a quite...distant land. It's called Michigan."

There was a thoughtful pause as he chewed. "Don't believe I've heard of it. What brought you here?"

She grinned. "You truly _haven't_ heard much of what happened at the Conclave, then?"

Blackwall gave an unbothered shrug. "Well, I know the important bits. Lots of wild rumors surrounding it, though, so I didn't pay much attention to all that out here."

"Can't fault that," she answered sincerely. "Even the stuff that's _true_ is pretty unbelievable. Well, I was brought here by the Breach or something having to do with the Breach. Don't know why. Before, I was near my home...in Michigan."

"Ah, so that's where all the 'divine providence' stuff started coming from?" He polished off the rest of his food.

She took her time chewing, pondering how to word her answer. "Well, that and the Herald - who was also brought here by the Breach - being able to close the rifts with her Breach-gifted, glowy hand, power thing. And sightings of the Divine slash Andraste calling out to her slash us." Bevin couldn't help but laugh, "No-one has any idea what actually went on."

"Or you wouldn't be out here chasing down leads about Wardens." The Warden nodded sagely.

"Exactly," she agreed.

The night was quiet save for the sounds of insects and the occasional hoot from an owl or restless shifting from some other creature. Every once in awhile she would catch glimpses of a shadowed creature moving rapidly across the land.

It wasn't until the early morning hours, with signs of the sun just beginning to show beyond the hills and mountains, that the eerie howling began.

One wolf. Then two. Several echoing from all around the valley below. And they were moving.

She and Blackwall perked up, listening and watching attentively to figure out what had suddenly caused the change. They sounded excited - suitable prey found?

Deciding they'd have to get closer to where the wolves seemed to be heading, they crept from the cliffs as silently as they could, trying to keep to what cover they found along the way down. At this time, Bevin determined that she would have to find a new set of outerwear robes should this become a more normal occurrence. The pale blue of the heavy fabric practically glowed in the night - not exactly very stealthy.

They made it down to the main road when Bevin felt the spark of magic in the air. Beyond the trees there were flashes of fire. Blackwall noticed as well and they ran to find the source, weapons drawn, knowing that it meant that something was going down.

She tried to pinpoint the various energies as they approached through the dense trees, but everything was moving too fast now for her to track - just blurs and swirls of lights.

They halted for cover when there was a sudden blow back of magic. Winded some, they pressed on, warier now.

By the time they found the others, the forest floor was covered in carnage and the receding residue of mana among the scorch marks and frost. This energy was wild and it filled her with a strange kind of exhilarance as her powers drew it in. A couple bodies of wolves were around, but it mostly appeared to be dead Mages from how the human bodies were dressed.

Solas was ushering them to head northeast with haste. "The wolves may not appear again for some days if we do not follow them back now."

"Fuckin' hedge Mages came out of nowhere," Kalen spat, trying to inspect a burnt part of his armor as they walked as fast as the forest and uneven ground allowed.

Well, that explained the flurry of magic - Solas was a very careful caster. These were not the usual apostates that they dealt with out here, but they didn't have time for her to ask more about them.

They followed tracks and the sounds of the wolves back into a tall canyon, a kind of grotto hidden by the cliffs and surrounding forest. Once they had a good idea of where the pack was hiding, Solas sent up orbs to light the area for them all to better see. This action was met with growls and glowing eyes. After one particularly ferocious snarl, a trio of the beasts struck out.

Blackwall braced behind his shield as one launched itself at him. With a mighty shove, it was thrown back upon collision. The warrior drove his sword into it while it was down. Another was stalled by the impact of an ice spell.

Seeing them subdued, the third wolf beat a quick retreat further into the gorge.

The Warden let out an annoyed grunt of frustration, beckoning the others to follow after him.

Cliffs rose up further around them, almost, but not quite, encaving the area. They approached with trepidation, and the air suddenly became much quieter save for their heavy breaths and foot falls on the rock-littered ground. Solas' casted orbs were slowly pressed onward before them.

Bevin found her hands to be white-knuckled around her staff, as she and Solas brought up the rear, each keeping an eye on their flanks. Wide pillars of flat-topped stone filled the center of the space, obscuring anything beyond and within them. Light from the floating orbs created dark shadows from the natural structures and didn't reach many areas, leaving them blind to potential hidden threats still. There was so much energy here that Bevin couldn't make any of it out.

They all halted at once. From every nook, niche, and boulder appeared sets of glowing red eyes. There had to have been dozens, each belonging to a massive wolf.

Her breath caught as the growing started and grew to a loud, foreboding rumble. She reinforced her barrier right as the most inhuman screech she'd ever heard broke through the night acting as a rallying battle cry to the wolves.

The beasts were on them en masse the next second. She couldn't yet see it, but she could sense that the demon was very near here somewhere. Bevin took on the task of protecting the others with defensive magic, occasionally blasting off the odd wolf when needed.

More had directed their focus to her, making it harder for her to concentrate on the others. With the slip of her focus, a particularly large wolf had found its way through their defenses. Blackwall grappled with it, striking out at its limbs with his sword while his shield prevented its maw from catching any of his face.

She heard Solas shout out, "We must slay the demon! These wolves will not cease."

"We have to push past them, then! Stay close!" Blackwall chose to press on to the right of the pillars, forcefully throwing back any beast that came at him.

A blow to the barrier from behind her had her spinning to identify the new threat. A pair of wolves were now striking from behind the group, though there was something off about them. Were these the same wolves that they had first encountered? She looked across at Solas in confusion. He looked just as alarmed. Cursing under his breath, he threw out a spell that built up a wall of thick ice at the entrance of the grotto. Nothing else would be able to get in, but now they wouldn't be able to easily retreat if they had to.

He signalled for her to take care of the wolves behind them, saying he'd take up defense. Nodding that she understood, Bevin let out a barrage of fireballs at the beasts. Her attack hit true, but they only seemed to momentarily hesitate before attacking once more.

"There's the bloody bastard!" she heard Blackwall exclaim after finally sighting the demon.

There was another roar from the demon as he charged after it. Bevin could hear it thrashing about, though concentrated on finishing off the wolves in front of her.

Something hit hard into the pillared rocks. Bevin looked over and saw the ones nearest begin to topple towards them. She called out a warning and they all flung themselves away from the crushing mass. But now her companions were on the other side, and she could see no way for her to continue in that direction.

Bevin cursed realising that she'd been separated from the others. She'd have to go around the other way - assuming it even met up - or hold her ground here. Either way, her best option would be to keep the cliffs or rocks close enough to her back that she only had to worry about attacks from her front.

Settled on her plan, Bevin continued knocking the wolves back as best she could while moving around them towards the cliff expanse on the other side.

She easily made it past the original two, but as soon as she began circling the left side of the pillars, more wolves moved in on her. Backed up against the cliffs, she could no longer move forward in any direction under the barrage. With this many seemingly invincible wolves attacking her, she now had no choice but to hold her ground.

" _Oi! What are these? No way they're normal wolves,"_ she tried to ask the spirit. Maybe she'd have some idea about what was going on with them.

From behind her weakening barrier, Bevin shot at each wolf in turn, propelling them some ways back only to watch as they'd get right back up. Though they each had various stages of what should have been debilitating injuries, they showed no sign of even noticing or stopping their onslaught.

" _They are normal wolves, dear, however, the terror demon is controlling them even after death,"_ she supplied. That was disheartening news to Bevin. The demon had to be taken out before these freaking _zombie_ wolves would stay down.

She was quickly becoming fatigued, and panic was welling up in her stomach as there appeared to be no relief in sight. Snarls and yips echoed from every direction, but aside from the occasional flash of magic and shout, she could see no sign of the others. The wolves had backed her into a corner.

Cracks bloomed along the surface of her barrier, but even as she worked to fortify it, more formed from every blow. Bevin let out a string of curses, trying to think of anything that would beat them back.

A spell came to mind unbidden. It wasn't one that she was familiar with, though she could discern parts of the glyphs. A fire...wall? " _Use it!"_ demanded the housed spirit.

Splitting her attention, she wrote out the series of glyphs, sending them to the ground beyond her barrier. Just as her barrier fell, they activated, sending up a wall of fierce flames before her.

But there was no time to catch her breath. The spirit had only narrowly warned, " _Bevin, above!"_ Her eyes rose to the wolf lunging from the rocks above mere moments before it was on her. With a scream, she was forced crashing to the ground, rocks digging sharply into her back.

She fought to fend it off with her staff. Teeth easily shook it from her grip with a dreadful growl. One arm went up in defense while her other hand tried to reach the blades at her hip. It nawed and pulled on the leather armor, its giant maw easily wrapping around her arm and scraping at the flesh barely protected by her robes. Spit fell over her face, yet she hardly noticed.

Finally freeing a knife, she thrust it into the wolf's neck. Blood rushed forth, but the wolf acted as though the blade was a mere mosquito prick. Retracting it, she stabbed at it over again with the same result. Ditching the knife still buried into the wolf's chest, she brought fire to fingertips and tried to burn the wolf with her grip as she kicked at its underside. It was too heavy to force off of her, and the hits did nothing to it.

This only served to anger it further. Its head thrashed side to side, tearing her armor loose from her arm along with scraps of her sleeve. She cried out in pain, terror overtaking her as the beast dove down, the claws of one foot tearing at her cheek while its teeth tore at her arms thrusting wildly about as it tried to take a bite out of anything it could reach.

It managed to grasp her left arm again. Without any protection, its teeth tore and sliced at her flesh. Bone cracked as it bit down and pulled back, shaking her.

All at once an unearthly wail filled the air and the wolf was collapsing, dropping her harshly on the stone and pinning her with its weight. She could vaguely hear calls from the others, and yips and retreating scurries from the remaining live wolves, but the pain radiating from her arm and throbbing through her being was all she could focus on.

Heavy footsteps came closer and the wolf was hauled off of her with a heave. A pained whimper escaped her when the teeth snagged in her arm before coming loose.

"Well, you're a right mess." A voice grunted from above. Wincing, she could make out the outline of the Warden. He called out for the others. "Now, I'm going to attempt to move you some place, so we can get a better look at ya."

She tried to nod, knowing that he was warning her that it probably wasn't going to be the most painless of things, but that movement itself was painful. Light fell over them as Solas and Kalen approached.

"Don't blame yourself too hard. The big one had to go down before the others would die. Otherwise...looks like ya took out at least a good dozen of 'em here." Blackwall was trying to make light of it, though she could see the worry on his face.

And she felt terrible about their deaths. The remaining wolves retreating immediately upon the demon's death proved that they couldn't be held at fault, not completely.

The Warden helped her prop herself up against a rock on a smoother expanse of ground. A new panic came to her now that the immediate threat was out of the way. Since she wasn't constantly expelling mana for her barrier and attacks, her mana stores were replenishing quickly from her syphoning. She could feel her skin pulling itself back together beneath the messes of blood and fabric and grime. Even the bones in her arm were - _unpleasantly_ \- moving themselves back into place.

"I don't think it's as bad as it looks, guys. He mostly just got armor until the last moment there." She'd have to stall them a little bit to keep anyone from noticing the major injuries, but not so long that there suddenly wasn't anything to call for the amount of blood and ripped clothing on her. Although it wasn't like _they_ could test the blood or anything… "I think most of this blood is from the big one. I got him good a few times. Really heavy, though, so knocked the wind out of me."

"I should still take a look at your injuries," Solas insisted. "Rather, everyone's, since none of us escaped this unscathed."

Bevin looked around at the others. Blackwall winced moving his shield arm and his breathing was a bit labored. Kalen had a few sizable gashes here and there in his armor and clothing, some of which were tinged with blood. Solas had fared the best of them, getting away with a bloodied lip and what seemed to just mostly be a lot of grime on him.

Blackwall stood and looked about them. "The sun's up now. We should finish up here and head back to that ranch. They may extend some more hospitality to us, so we at least won't be out in the open tending to," he gestured to himself and around to them, "all this."

After swigging a couple healing potions to carry them along for another hour or two against their exhaustion, Blackwall and Kalen left to do one last round of the wolf den before they would all leave.

Shifting closer to her, Solas began pulling gingerly at the bits of fabric sticking to her arm. His brow rose when she made a sound of protest. "I very much doubt you would be brushing this off were it as it first appears, but all the same..." He pinned her with an admonishing look that left no room for argument and went back to his task. Plucking a knife from his pack, he cut away what was left of her sleeve.

Bevin watched him intently, trying to seem unfazed by what he might find. She sucked in a breath from the stinging as he washed away most of the dirt and built up blood with a simple water spell. Even she could see from here that parts of her wounds were still open and bleeding freely.

When he held her arm just watching it for long moments with his brows furrowed was when she knew that he knew. Blood was slowing, the wounds were clearly becoming smaller. He hadn't even yet looked at the ones on her neck and face, but she'd wager that, as comparatively minor as they were, they were already gone. The slight, yet abating tenderness was all that was left to even remind her that she had sustained any injury there in the first place.

He cast a glance over his shoulder. The other two had disappeared around the rocks. Turning back, he became contemplative. "How long does this process normally take?"

Her lips pouted. It was out now, but Solas wouldn't discuss anything out in the open like this. "It's gotten pretty fast. At this rate, the noticeable stuff'll probably be gone by the time we reach the ranch."

Solas sighed. "Faster than any magic of which I have seen or heard, yet not fast enough to fully escape the eyes of the others. Remain still and I shall wrap this for now, then check again when better able to examine it." He dug out a roll of bandages and an ointment.

She couldn't knock his field dressing skills. Within a short time, he arm was bound securely, though comfortably. He helped her stand again and swiped up her staff from where it had been flung in the fight.

Looking over it, Bevin scowled at the new gouges in the dark wood, running her thumb over them. She wiped it and her hands on her robes, feeling the wolf slobber still clinging to the length of her staff.

They then followed after the Warden and scout. The men were found poking around in a more shadowed area of the den. Shiny trinkets and baubles of all sorts had been stowed away here in heaps. Whether by a prior occupant or the demon or wolves, it was hard to say.

With as sore as she was still feeling, Bevin didn't want to risk kneeling down again to go through all that. The others could look for things of interest or with selling value. Instead, she took a closer look around at the now very dead wolves.

From their coats and sizes, she could say fairly definitively that they were not all from the same pack, or even the same region. Some coats were long, thick, and dense, meant for a much colder climate than this area of the Hinterlands; some had shorter, thin coats meant for much warmer climates. They came in a range of colors and sizes from hulking beast to the smaller, more lithe predators.

Bevin could only guess at exactly what this meant. It was rather troubling if even lone demons could somehow attract this kind of following of a powerful beast. They'd either been called here or picked up during travel from somewhere else. Though, she'd have to admit, she still didn't really know much pertaining to the demons here.

Almost as though reading her thoughts, Solas appeared at her side and provided a theory. "The terror demon most likely took advantage of, and created, a kind of warped sense of pack mentality. While there may have been one main pack residing here, many of the individuals before us are outsiders, lone wolves."

That could make sense. "You know something of wolves, then, Solas?" she asked.

He chuckled. "One learns quite a bit of nature as a lone traveller."

Bevin nodded, easily accepting of his explanation. She, after all, had first encountered and had been drawn in by the red wolves of the Louisiana backwoods that made up her childhood prior to her relocation north. "I did some volunteer work at a wolf reservation over a couple summers. We're currently in the process of trying to stabilize their numbers after nearly driving some populations to extinction in our country."

They began walking out of the gorge having collected what they could. A fire spell reduced the many bodies to scattered ashes. Bevin noted in passing, "It's sad - if not for the demon, they likely would never have been a problem at this kind of scale. But the people here will probably remain fearful of them."

"The ones that survived are now free of the demon's control, and that is something of which to be glad. There come times when bloodshed and sacrifice are required for liberty." He seemed far away now, lost in some thought or memory, as they walked. "They are resilient and will adapt," he softly added after a few moments.

The minor journey back to the ranch was thankfully uneventful. Though looking forward to being able to rest their feet for a bit, the trip took much longer due to their exhaustion and general bruised status of the group. It was a very welcome sight when the more maintained dirt paths finally came into view.

They hadn't wanted to assume or intrude, but the family, found caring for their druffalo and other livestock in the fields, was still extremely welcoming of them, extending further hospitality after hearing of the defeat of the demon controlling the troublesome wolves. They claimed that this was the least they could do in exchange for eliminating the threat to their livelihood.

Makeshift bedding was to be set up in the house's basement. Bevin intended to get some shut eye first thing, though it looked like the group was splintering off again as they made their way past the fields.

"I feel well enough," the Warden started. "I'm gonna head off to the stables to see to my equipment." He gave a shrug, searching for words to describe the nature of the chore for himself, but settled on simplicity, "Relaxing stuff. Be around if ya need me." With a nod, he walked off, unbuckling parts of his armor as he went.

Kalen was agitated, leaning from one foot to the other and acting all around shifty. Bevin crooked an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to speak whatever was on his mind. He finally spun to her. "Look, I should report to the main camp. With everything that's happened," he looked pointedly to her arm, "they need to be alerted that we'll be delayed."

"Delayed?" Bevin frowned. "We're pretty on schedule - think we estimated two days for this. We can ride out this evening for the Crossroads camp, or in the morning we stop there on our way back to Haven." He looked skeptical. "Blackwall appears fine. Solas has a couple bumps. You're wanting to ride out already, so I can only assume you're feeling well enough. I have a few scratches and bruises _at most_ \- nothing major." At this rate, there wasn't going to be anything at all by the time she actually took another look.

His lips pursed and he looked away. Shaking his head in disapproval, his voice rose, "You were still too reckless!"

Where was this coming from? "Too reckless? We got separated and there wasn't much that I could do alone against _undying_ wolves!"

Kalen continued on like she hadn't spoken, "And we need to have you looked at by an actual healer."

Her shoulders slumped, partly in annoyance, partly from continued exhaustion. "What, you don't trust Solas' word that I'm fine?"

"He's an _apostate_ , not a healer!" he spat dismissively.

She spared a glance to said elf clearly listening in from his position of a whole three feet away from them. Bevin tried to brush it off, not wanting to bring him into what was turning into petty noise. "That argument doesn't even make sense! Neither of us may be adept in healing magic, but we have some relevant knowledge of the Art. I've studied parts of medicine, pathology, forensics, and the like from my world."

He threw his arms up. "Just because you know stuff of your world, doesn't mean it applies _here_ in this one."

Bevin was taken aback and stopped walking. "Are you listening to yourself? What has gotten into you?" This seemed so out of character for him. She wasn't quite sure what to think of it. "And barring magic, our worlds aren't that different."

He did not pause his lengthening strides. "Like what?" he tossed over his shoulder.

"' _Like what?'_ " she exclaimed. "Fire's hot, water's fucking wet. You seem to be arguing just to argue - where is your point here?"

Kalen's march slowed as he blustered, appearing lost for words, like _he_ didn't even know where he was going with all this. He mumbled something unintelligible and strode off at a quickened pace towards the stables.

Bevin could only watch after him and roll her eyes. "What the fuck?" she grumbled. Putting his nonsense out of her mind, she continued on her way.

" _May be for the best. You were planning to discontinue seeing him anyway,"_   the spirit yawned.

" _Well, I'm about to roast an elf, too, since he's involved somewhere in this, I think."_   She'd wait until they were situated and alone. Solas was the only one to not give an excuse and wander off.

This farmhouse was a bit more ramshackle than others she'd been in. While bigger, it was clear that parts and rooms had been added on over time with no clear direction or end goal. Getting to the basement took a bit of maneuvering and trying doors. Somewhere around was a cupboard for linens and pillows that they could borrow.

They moved a table and bench away from the hearth to make room for their sleeping rolls. Between the two of them they had the room lit and a warming fire going in no time.

Flinging her mantle over her satchel and throwing her boots somewhere nearby, Bevin plopped down on her chosen spot, very glad that she'd soon be asleep and nearly forgetting of the recent testy exchange with Kalen entirely. But her current target for questioning was coming straight to her.

Solas propped his staff near hers before giving a stretch and sitting down facing her. She braced her head in her right palm, held up by her arm balancing on her knee, and warily offered out her opposite arm.

He was quick to set to work, unwrapping the bandages from her arm diligently. "From how you are behaving, I would cast a guess that these are nearly healed."

Yawning, she didn't bother with an actual answer. They'd find out for sure in a few seconds, anyway. He was probably right.

With the bandages gone, Solas unslung his pack from his shoulders to find supplies to go about cleaning it properly. Some blood still lingered, sticky and crusted over in places. As he wiped it away, all that was left was nearly unblemished skin. Gone were the open wounds and torn skin. Some minor bruising was still apparent in blotches, but that wasn't of any concern.

He checked over her neck and shoulder, as well, then turned his hands and attention back to her arm. He traced her skin delicately, as though looking for some missed injury and skeptical that there were none. "I do not believe there will ever come a day when you cease to surprise me," Solas admitted softly.

Bevin laughed and gave a wink. "Nah, that's the day I become boring. No-one wants that."

He smiled and released her arm. Moving back to his own bedroll he began taking stock of what supplies he still had.

Bevin fell back, holding her bared arm above her and grimacing. "I'm gonna need new travelling robes. I liked these ones." She fingered the fraying cuts of heavy fabric at her shoulder. "Or at least a new sleeve, I guess. Though maybe something darker if I'm going to be doing much more of this sneaking around by night kinda thing."

He gave a thoughtful hum. "If we had the time, I would suggest we stop at Redcliffe. With the recent influx of Mages travelling through the port, there are sure to be vendors for appropriate robes."

She had taken a look at what had been offered for sale at the Crossroads - no doubt Solas recalled that dismal selection. "I'll make due for now. I'm sure Harritt and I can come up with something at least temporary when we get back." They fell into a companionable silence, the sounds of the fire lulling the day's nerves.

That meant now was the best time to disrupt that before they really got settled. She rolled over to watch him better. He could try to weasel out with his words, but his movements usually echoed his true thoughts. "So, what's up with you and Kalen?"

His movements slowed, and he took a moment to answer, not meeting her eyes. "How do you mean?"

She expected him to play dumb, which, thankfully, was _not_ something that he did well. Bevin let him stew under her gaze for a long minute. Stiffly, he waited for her to continue. "If your gaze alone could smite people, Kalen would be a pile of ash." She wasn't sure he even realised he was fidgeting with a roll of unused bandages. "Thus, splitting off with him last night was rather suspicious, yeah?"

He sat back on his heels and tossed the unwinding bandages into his bag. "I feel that the scout is being disingenuous with his intentions towards you." He finally turned to face her fully.

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling wanly seeing that he hadn't expected such an answer. "I've had that feeling for awhile, but couldn't figure out what he was actually after until recently." Bevin crooked an eyebrow at him pointedly, knowing full well that he had listened in on many conversations.

Solas let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing minutely. "Yes, that was what I confronted him over. He does not need to badger you incessantly about such things as my background."

She pushed herself to sit up, stretching her legs out to warm her feet closer to the fire. "I pretty much told him to screw off every time he asked. Not that I knew the answers to most of what he wanted to know, but it's not my place to share that stuff anyway. Though more recently I started giving him total bullshit answers, so if you start getting questions about your vegan superpowers," she flashed him a toothy grin, "that's a leak from Kalen. But seriously, if I thought you were untrustworthy, I'd have, like, done something by now."

"The scout does not trust me." And his tone implied that he did not care a wink of what said scout thought. "I cannot speak to how genuine his true feelings may be, but he is not fond of my proximity to you."

Bevin snorted derisively. Kalen was SOL, then, if he had caught feelings, as she was definitely not continuing whatever they had before. "Good thing that's not for him to decide." Though she half wondered if Solas had made some threat to him since he had up and ran off instead of staying with them. She couldn't say she cared enough now about the scout to bother asking.

"Yes, though should the leaders of this Inquisition decide that I am a threat to someone they've deemed holy, I would be, at the very least, removed, though most probably imprisoned." Right. The Inquisition, though currently at odds with the Chantry, was technically an extension of the church, and said church was not fond of apostates. Or most Mages, really. And Solas was at all kinds of odds with the Chantry _as a person_ , so his status was closer to outright heretic.

Bevin shook her head emphatically. "Nope, I'd defend ya."

His face softened. "That would be very kind of you, Bevin."

She continued in partial jest. "I mean barring something like you being the Elder One. Though that would require you to be in multiple places at once with one hell of a glamor, so I'm pretty sure you're clear of that."

"Good to know," he chuckled.

"We all have secrets. You know many of mine." Some better than she herself knew, much to her consternation. And the list seemed to be ever growing. "I like to think that I know some of yours."

"Oh? What secrets of mine do you presume to know?" he humored. Covering a yawn, he laid himself back on his bedroll.

Bevin reflexively echoed his yawn. She hummed in thought. What was she willing to reveal? Well, there was one thing that she had wondered over - maybe she could get him to confirm it. She narrowed her eyes on his relaxed form. "You're a Fade Walker."

His eyes snapped open, then drifted to hers. "What lead you to that conclusion?" His words were measured, though curious. Bevin was fairly certain she was right in her guessing. The prickling and glimmer of his magic in the air all but confirmed her suspicions as he clearly did not want anyone listening in.

Bevin held up her thumb and began listing her many observations. "One, you've told me about them. More than once. In quite a lot of detail." Her first finger joined her thumb. "Two, we all know you're a Dreamer, but from what I've heard about Dreamers in a more general sense, even the most skilled wouldn't be able to do what _I've_ seen you do. There's shaping the Fade, and then there's sculpting the Fade so completely in its very fabric that it permanently holds the form. À la our grassy little forest knoll back at Haven. I'm only able to make occasional alterations because _you_ allow it." Another finger popped up. "Three, I don't know how, but you store stuff there or, I dunno, manifest it from the Fade somehow. I know what you have on you - I've watched you pack numerous times - but you pull things from no-where all the time."

"Four-" She held up a fourth finger and Solas motioned her to stop with a lazy wave of his hand. Bevin waited expectantly for some kind of answer, whether affirming or denying or some other explanation.

His eyes closed as he appeared to relax again. "I suppose, given how much I know of you, it is only fair that you hold one of mine." Granted, it didn't exactly seem like some damning secret to her. Most people already saw him as the weirdo obsessed with the _spooky_ Fade. It probably wouldn't be much of a stretch from Dreamer to Fade Walker in many minds. Though while Dreamers were exceedingly rare, Fade Walkers were almost completely unheard of. And, again, Fade 'anything' terrified most people here, so it would follow that someone actively able to shape and utilize it to their will would be equally terrifying.

Bevin felt the magic in the room begin to dissipate, potentially his way of expressing his desire to move on from the topic. Maybe it was more sensitive than he let on.

She settled back down onto her bedroll, finally closing her eyes. Just as she was drifting off, a slight weight settled on her chest. Cracking an eye open, she looked down and saw a small, round amulet strung on old, worn leather. Picking it up, she sat forward and examined it by the fire light. Bronzed and a little larger than a quarter coin, one side had a paw print in relief, while the other had a ring of unknown script carved around some kind of red gem.

"Nothing of much interest was found in the den, save for that amulet. It is enchanted to protect the bearer from wolves," Solas explained.

Well, that was interesting. She passed her thumb over the gem in wonder. "Like a warding amulet?" Bevin added in a grumble, "Could have used this a few hours ago."

Solas held back a laugh. "Less warding, more...proclaiming that the holder is a friendly presence." There was a subtle jest in his voice, "You may wish to keep it since you seem to attract them."

She threw a piece of lint at him for the jab. He brushed it away with a smirk. "It probably wouldn't have worked on possessed zombie wolves anyway because they aren't fully in control of their actions." Bevin turned it, following the script. "What's it say?"

He was hesitant answering that question, and she knew why after he spoke again. "It's elvhen, reading ' _Fen'Harel enansal_.'" That meant it had to do with the wolf god - not exactly surprising given the properties - though she didn't know what 'enansal' translated to. Bevin thought of waking the spirit up for a try at an answer when Solas provided a translation, "Or rather, 'Dread Wolf's blessing.'"

Solas didn't seem to have any hangups or personal superstitions regarding the Dread Wolf mythos but was aware that others very much still did. Possession of such a thing could irk or frighten others. "Great, 'potentially handy but don't go flashing it around elves,' is what I'm getting out of that."

He shook his head. Maybe that wasn't what made him hesitate then? Did he think that _she_ would be wary of it for its connection to Fen'Harel? "Most elves cannot read or write elven, save for Dalish Keepers and their Firsts. There is little harm in you keeping it."

"Oh," she responded simply, mulling that revelation over. "I thought the Dalish elves were trying to protect and perpetuate their culture. That seems...pretty counter-productive to have most of your population completely illiterate."

He nodded. "I could not agree more. Many will cite lack of resources when asked, but it is mostly held up as tradition. Easily seen when said clans have many members able to better read and write in Common." Solas sighed and lamented, "Even spoken elven is dying out, however."

"That's unfortunate," Bevin said sympathetically. "You've tried to helped them?"

He scoffed with a frown, answering with ill-concealed annoyance that she knew wasn't at her, but rather the object of the topic, "My efforts and advice have not been welcome to the clans."

She knew he held quite a bit of disdain for the Dalish and their ways. For some, she saw why clearly. In his view, they were stuck in old ways and continued on in their ignorance, while they simultaneously bemoaned how their culture was disappearing due to many integrating and adapting to cities and settlements.

Bevin didn't have an answer to that. She didn't particularly want to continue on in a discussion that was upsetting to him right now. Instead, she lay back down, setting the amulet nearby.

"What are 'vegan' superpowers?" Trying to sleep and it was _he_ who was being restless and talkative for once.

Bevin bit her lip, a grin creeping wide on her face as she laughed. Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs, she delayed answering.

Though Solas wasn't fazed by the company as he spoke, "If I am to be holding this secret, I had best understand it."

The Warden tiredly stepped across the room, setting his armor and supplies down. "And what secret would that be?"

Bevin was quick to answer, keeping her face neutral and her tone sincere, "I was born with six toes on each foot."

"Great, though you're barefoot and I can count," Blackwall gestured towards her feet with a laugh.

She kept up with the story, providing an answer that was technically true, but in no way applied to herself. "That's how good surgery is where I'm from."

Blackwall raised an eyebrow, clearly seeing through her bogus words. He put on an air of wistfulness, "I'll have to see this amazing land of wonder some day." He sat down upon one of the benches, stretching his legs out. "Now, what's the scout all in a huff about? Took off from here in a bloody hurry."

Rolling her eyes, Bevin gave their explanation, "He's probably all upset that he got called out on his bullshit last night and was looking for an excuse to leave. Likely won't see much of him on the way back if he doesn't outright find an excuse to ride out ahead of us."

"Sounds like there's some bad blood there. Mind if I know why?" he asked in cautious response.

Bevin decided to generalise her words, "Cozying up to me in the hope that I'd spill crap about the others."

He stroked a hand through his beard, looking thoughtful. "Huh. Am I certain now that I want to be a part of all this?"

"Not too late to back out there." Bevin winked. Though he meant his question in rhetorical jest, her words were serious, even if her tone wasn't. If he didn't want to get involved with all this nonsense, the time to back out was now.

They'd left the extra blankets stacked for Blackwall, uncertain if he had an adequate bedroll to use. He had a pretty meager one, though still asked if they would like to use any of the blankets themselves. Both passing on the offer, he spread a thicker folded one over his bedroll for added cushion.

Bevin rolled over onto her stomach, perfectly cozy with a fire glyph radiating a comfortable heat under her stomach. This time, her efforts to fall asleep were uninterrupted.


	16. Close Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter is filler, but gives further explanation to a couple things. Doesn't fit with the next chapter taking place in Haven, so I'm breaking it off again. Sorry it's so short! :/
> 
> The song Bevin sings is “Dún do Shúil,” a popular Irish lullaby/children's song. [Here's a really sweet version sung by Altan.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5qeiPo_c70)
> 
> For those interested in more of SAR between my slow updates (or if you're a heathen looking for more smut before the main fic gets to it), I've added a [companion piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7909759/chapters/18070954) of prompts and drabbles and unused scenes.

* * *

“What will you do once the Breach is sealed?”  No longer wearing her Mage robes but a conjured replica of what she would wear on her Earth, Bevin lay nearby in the grass, watching the stars in the night sky.  In the Fade, there were no clouds to block their twinkling light.  The moonless night ensured that all was visible in the heavens.  He watched as her hands wove the Fade into glistening dragonflies.  It had become a mindless habit for her to create the little flitting creatures.  The meadow was rapidly filling with them.

“You’ve high hopes for this attempt.”  As did he.  He was sure, between the power gathered by the Anchor and the combined Will of the rebel Mages, that the Breach would finally be ridden from the sky.  What would happen after was the big question that remained.

He caught her smile.  “Call me an optimist.”

“Ah,” he acknowledged.  “I will continue my research on the matter.  Best to ensure that it does not happen again.”

Her hands stopped momentarily.  “Will you stay with the Inquisition?”

Even though she would not see it, he shrugged.  “Perhaps.  If I feel that my knowledge is still needed there.”  He might need something with the increasing pull and might of the Inquisition.  At these early stages, he felt that he could still influence its actions and direction.  It had resources and reach that he currently did not.  “What are your plans?”

She let out a weak laugh.  “I guess that’s pretty contingent upon whether or not I’m even still here.”

“Do you wish to go back?”  Within the several months that he had known her, he had never once outright asked her that question. 

Her voice was small and strained with uncertainty - he almost missed her words, “I don’t know.  I feel like I’m supposed to want to go back.”

“But that is not what you desire.”  He didn’t bother guising it as a question.  She wanted to stay, though felt an obligation of sorts to return.

“I don’t know what I want.”  She sat up abruptly, threads of the Fade dispelling from her hands.  “I don’t know if there will even be anything for me to return to.  I mean, I don’t have a close-knit family to go back to like Nikki does, even if _I_ think she may be being overly optimistic in thinking she’ll be able to just slip right back to her life there.  Assuming a one-to-one time difference between both universes at best, I’ve been gone several months.  My home won’t be there, my job will be gone.  I expect someone’s filed a missing person’s report for me by now, but I’d have to come up with some story to explain my disappearance to have _any_ hope of trying to get back to that life.  Telling the truth would get me declared unstable and sent to some mental institution.  I have friends I miss, sure, but it’s not like they absolutely need me.  Our world isn’t at the brink of destruction...yet.”

He watched her pluck out blades of grass in frustration as she continued speaking.  “But I don’t know what my purpose would be here if I were to stay.  Inquisition ‘psychic’ and then what?  Right now I feel like this awkward shadow to Nikki’s ‘Herald.’  I guess I at least I know the present here.”

It would be so simple to ask her to stay with him.  She would say ‘yes,’ he was sure of it.  She desired a purpose, and he could give her one.  He had long suspected that Bevin’s drive to learn new things was rooted in being uncomfortable with unknowns.  She liked the familiar, found comfort in a common presence.  Yet he hesitated.

He genuinely cared about her and her welfare.  While he took care of his subjects, she was no longer merely a tool to further his ends.  As much as he hated admitting it, she was safer within the Inquisition.  And while he may have become a reliable presence, he _was_ full of unknowns that she could not know.  Not now, but maybe in the future.  Would she accept them?

Of course, this was all assuming that she had a choice in the matter.  Not even he knew how closing the Breach would affect her, if at all.  If he asked her to stay by his side before it was dealt with, he would cause her more stress.

He supposed he should be somewhat satisfied with the current state of affairs, however.  The wolf pack amulet - an interesting turn of happenstance in itself - now marked her for one of his.  Very few had once been gifted them for their loyalty.  It was a simple matter for him to reactivate the spells it carried, tying them to her blood and the essence of her mana.  Though it was not as powerful as it once was, it would afford her with some further protection.  His agents would recognize it for what it was.

He needed to focus on restoring his strength, for without that, he would be hard pressed to be able to do much of anything to reach his goals.  Thanks to the efforts of the Herald in closing rifts, he already felt some of his power trickling back.  But it wasn’t enough.  He still had much work to do.  He had to figure out how to return the power of the Anchor to himself, how to return his foci to his possession.

His itch to explore what memories the Fade held of the wolf den would have to go unscratched at this time.  Bevin would insist on going, and he was uneasy with that due to the potential nature of the memories the Fade could show.  He was thankful that she hadn’t brought up visiting it since he didn’t have a particularly strong reasoning to _not_ go.

His eyes opened again, ears picking up the sound of Bevin softly singing, the language tenuously recognized as one that she sometimes spoke under her breath.   _“-shúil, a rún mo chroí.  A chuid den tsaol, 's a ghrá liom.”_  She had moved further out, slowly wandering around rocks and busying her hands with creating more of her dragonflies.   _“Dún do shúil, a rún mo chroí.  Agus gheobhair feirín amárach.”_

He summoned one of the creatures to his hand.  This one shone with an emerald gleam as it sat calmly upon his fingers.  Observing it this way and that, he came to the conclusion that, so nearly perfect was it in its design, he would have difficulty discerning it from its living brethren by physical manifestation alone.  And yet, every night, there would be hundreds of them before they awoke.  Of several colors and shapes - species, he supposed.

He let the dragonfly take off once more.  What did they mean to her that she knew them this well?

Solas wondered if she realised how much she effortlessly affected the Fade around her.  The light thrumming of a low beat keeping to her song.  The growing virescence of the land beneath her feet.  The tiny blossoming flowers left in trails behind her.  The spirits that had gathered at a distance to watch and listen.  

With her improving strength and comfort with the Fade, he put less effort into hiding her presence within his area of influence.  She would soon have no need of his continued supervision here.  These spirits were drawn to her - he counted those of joy and courage among them, even an elusive spirit of hope.  She had little experience with them, but he did not expect her to react negatively to their presence.

“Bevin-”  Indeed, once he drew her attention to them, she appeared quite excited.  She climbed to sit upon one of the boulders and watched them curiously.  “They enjoyed your song.”

“Oh!”  Her eyes grew wide, and he noticed her face reddening as she ducked her head to hide behind her bangs.  “I hadn’t realised I was that loud.”

He cut her off before she could voice the much unneeded apology on her tongue, “You’ve nothing for which to apologize.  Your voice is lovely.”  He was rewarded with a bashful smile.

Her hands moved before her, trying to encourage the Fade into a new form.  It began to take shape, but he did not recognize the form right away.  Only when her fingers started to move purposefully and a new set of sounds echoed around them did he come to see that she was playing a, albeit rudimentary, piano.

She took up a simple melody, the sound becoming clearer and more defined as the Fade settled into the form reflected by her Will.  Some of the braver spirits drifted closer, but ultimately still kept their distance.  He was sure that this would change with time as her presence became known as a friendly one.

Most Mages were more than content to spend their time asleep within their dreams, never venturing further to the Fade for fear of what might await them.  But not Bevin.  Her mind, while capable of dreaming, avoided it.  As soon as she learned how, she was found within the Fade each moment of sleep - he had not had to help pull her to the Fade in quite some time.

As much as he delighted in her response to the Fade, her continued presence made it increasingly difficult for him to accomplish much here in secrecy.  He was interested in seeing if she could be taught more advanced Fade magic, but he did not need her complicating his efforts even more.  Had he not been so eager to bring her here, he could have taught her to better control the content of her dreams.  She no longer had _any_ interest in that, preferring to practice her control of the Fade itself as a burgeoning Dreamer.  If she was not lucid within the Fade, she simply did not dream.  It was a talent for which she had only become more proficient after her nightmares of the Red Future reaffirmed her stance.

Bevin was already keeping a closer eye on him and his magic - though likely had been for some time - since having confirmed his abilities as a Fade Walker.  It had not surprised him, but there was a spark of thrill within him from her interest, her study of him.  This had always been a possibility since he began pursuing keeping her close, he just had not planned on her unravelling facets of him so soon and with so little prompting.

Of course, he was more the one to blame for his delay in work since he persisted in choosing to stay to watch over her.  His presence was not needed to enforce an area of his influence in such a tame portion of the Fade.  She would be fine without him here.

Determining that she was distracted enough with her thoughts and musical efforts that she would not notice him missing, Solas stood and quietly slipped away before he could change his mind.  Maybe he’d get to scratch that itch after all.


	17. I See Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [insert excuses] Wooo! Sorry for the lateness all! I've been battling sickness and the General Holiday Season. Buuut I'm working on some artwork for SAR! :3
> 
> Cole's general role will be explained more later, as well. I am so happy to finally be able to include him. I originally had brief bits with Bevin confronting Leliana and the meeting the Iron Bull, but they were too clunky, so will be added in the coming chapters.
> 
> I had planned to upload this chapter tomorrow, but I've been asked to come into work on my day off, so pardon any strange formatting bits since it'll take me a little longer to go over those once uploaded.
> 
> But who's excited for Skyhold?! :D
> 
> Thanks always for the amazing comments and kudos and subs and bookmarks! I can't believe there are so many! It excites me every single time I get that note in my email.
> 
> Word count: ~6.4k

* * *

The days leading up to the second attempt at the Breach spun by in a hectic blur. Everyone was antsy. Everyone was nervous. No-one knew what the outcome would be.

Would they be able to banish it for good?

What did they need to prepare to potentially face?

Would there be fallout?

Would she and-or Nikki be whisked off again? Would they go back home? Was that what they wanted?

...

While Bevin had felt a rush of relief after the closing of the Breach that she was still standing in the ruins of the Conclave, she had caught Nichole fighting hard to continue putting on a brave face. The heavy gulping; how she wouldn't meet anyone's eye; the halfhearted hurrahs. Those weren't tears of exhaustion and relief like so many others wore, they were tears shed for the growing permanence of their - _her_ \- situation. She had held onto the hope of returning to what she'd had. The looks back at the now calming sky weren't of relief and wonder, but of wistfulness.

Bevin wasn't sure how she would have felt if she had suddenly found herself back in her own world. Would any time have passed? Would she have anything to go back to? How would she explain her disappearance? What if she just wound up somewhere _else?_ She didn't like such unknowns. This land was full of them, but at least the present was somewhat knowable here.

She could no longer really picture a world and life without magic. In such a short time, it had become like air and breathing to her - a necessary part of life that was just _there_. Little things had permeated her life - the flick of her hand to light a room; scribbled glyphs to heat her bed and food; water poured from her fingertips to refill her cup. She could shoot fireballs and summon lightning and see the freaking future.

Sure, she had a few close friends and a budding career back home, things she'd worked so hard to attain, but _these_ people were becoming like family to her, too. They protected each other in battle and through hardship. They lived and laughed and grieved together. Haven was a second home now.

But she still felt horrible. Shouldn't she want to go back? Eventually?

While the others danced and drunkenly celebrated the night away within the tavern and in the streets, Bevin found her favorite out-of-the-way stoney perch to lie on and watch the newly visible stars. It was cold and uncomfortable on her back, but she couldn't bring herself to warm it.

So deep in thought was she, that Bevin didn't notice everything melting away. One moment she had closed her eyes to listen to the sounds of Haven, the next she opens them to darkness, deafening sounds assaulting her ears.

She feels dizzy and sick, like the wind was knocked out of her. All around her there are screams and yells, metal on metal. Fighting. The creaking of wood. A crackling. The ground is cold and rough beneath her cheek. She tries to open her eyes, to get up, but nothing is of any use.

Smoke is heavy in her lungs, and she feels herself shaking, coughing up fiercely over and over. It's almost impossible to breathe. A roar echoes around her, so loud and piercing she can feel it in her bones.

Eyes finally open, and she is greeted with the sight of fire. Fire and smoke, burning bright and hot upon her face and hands. Why isn't she getting up?

There is a shooting pain through her leg and side.

Someone is calling her name. Wood creaks, then breaks under a blast of clearing magic. She is turned over and quickly lifted, causing her to cry out in pain as her leg is jostled roughly.

Outside of wherever she was, is more fire. Everywhere. She tries to look around, but even in this vision, the pain is difficult to see through.

"Seeker, get her inside!" Solas calls from nearby. Inside where?

There's another roar, then a strong gush of wind. A crash a little ways off.

A rush of footsteps, a door slams, and she finds herself able to open her eyes again. This is the Chantry.

She hears talking, yelling, crying. The shadows fade a bit as she is laid down. All around her are people - friends, advisors, villagers, dozens of soldiers. All scared and worried, jumpy at the echos of destruction beyond the heavy Chantry door.

Commander Cullen is going over possible last stand strategies with Nikki nearby. Bevin feels herself move to stand. She's shaky on her feet and someone comes to help brace her before she collapses.

They are talking of Nikki going out to confront the Elder One, to buy them time while they flee through some secret route. She feels herself begin to protest the plan. They couldn't let her go out there alone!

Further argument becomes quiet and garbled as her Sight fades again, pulling her back to the present.

Bevin bolted up. Her breathing was harsh as she tried to make sense of this latest vision. Haven was burning, people were dying all around her from the assault. The assault from what? Some kind of large beast or demon, going by the roars she had heard. And the Elder One...

Shaking her head, Bevin slid down from the stone and made a beeline for her home. Everyone was still filling the paths in celebration, hooting and hollering in joy. In her hurry, she ran into someone, giving a brief pardon before moving.

She flung open the door to the hut. She was met with darkness and solitude - _good,_ Solas wasn't here. A moment later, a spell lit the space.

Bevin dug out some blank paper and a quill. She had to write down everything that she could before she started forgetting bits. Looking to her phone, she made note of the time.

She had no idea exactly when this would take place.

There wasn't enough to go off of for this vision. Writing out everything that she could recall as potentially important from the vision didn't take long. Pulling back from her work, she took several minutes to meditate on the vision, trying to see if anything else would come back to her. From there, she set to work extrapolating results from what she knew so far.

Could the attack be prevented? Unlikely. Could Haven somehow be evacuated in time to prevent the losses she saw? Possibly, but what consequences would that, in turn, have?

The attacking forces would likely only follow a clear evacuation. Bevin wasn't sure where they could even go. Without the protection of the Keep, everyone would be vulnerable. They didn't have the kind of numbers in their forces to be able to sustain that kind of defense required. From her vision, it looked like they had been forced into barricading themselves within the Chantry. She didn't know if there was some kind of last stand or if any of them made it out alive.

She would have to speak with Leliana and Cullen, which meant divulging the vision. Maybe, if prepared, they could bolster their defenses to fend off the attack.

And they had a _dragon_. How could they possibly fight off something like that?

Bevin let out a whine of frustration. She couldn't do this herself. The best option she saw was to alert Leliana and the Commander so they could at least begin prepping defense for an attack.

She collected her things in her pack and threw on her cloak, but then found herself whisked off into another vision. Or the...same vision? She'd never had multiple visions this close before.

It's the same setting, but everything is calm. She is standing atop one of the lookouts alongside the Nightingale. Before them, their soldiers are being dispatched to march on the incoming enemy. So this takes place _before_ the other one?

The Elder One's forces are just cresting into view, the first ones charging forward at the sight of Inquisition soldiers already so near. Then, with a mighty roar, the dragon is quickly rounding the mountaintop. Without any care for its own supposed allies, fire is spewed upon the clashing peoples.

She watches in horror as their own forces are quickly being cut down left and right. The only survivors of the onslaught were increasingly those marching on the Keep. Fire is quickly catching throughout the mountainside and the dragon has turned its sights on the Keep.

There is yelling coming from the main gate. "Please, let me in! I've come to warn you!"

It is Nikki who runs forward to open the gate. Bodies of enemies are strewn about on the other side. With little ado, a person - a young man wearing an odd, wide-brimmed hat and patchwork clothing - runs through and makes right for her.

He ignores the yells and warnings from others, addressing her directly in earnest, "I'm Cole. You're the Oracle - I'm here to help. People are coming to hurt you and the Herald. But you already know…"

Bevin frowns, this vision suddenly feels different. More like a waking dream. She is suddenly able to control her movements, to look around. To talk.

"What is this?" she asks.

"I'm helping!" he explains. "The Templars have come to kill you, they've joined with the Elder One. He is very angry that you took his Mages. This version must not come to be."

"How do I stop this- stop the attack?" she desperately pleads.

"You can't." Cole shakes his head mournfully. "The Elder One is already on his way here." They cast a look down at the others, who had turned their attentions to the enemies already upon the gate. There are cries to retreat to the Chantry.

The atmosphere is making her panicky. She can feel her palms sweating from her anxiety about the situation. She keeps telling herself that this is still just a vision, that it hasn't happened yet. "But what do I do? If I warn the others, we send our soldiers to _slaughter!_ There have to be _tons_ more people already dead now than in the last vision."

Cole fidgets, seeming uncertain. "This isn't the change you should make, cannot make. There is much more hurt here."

"So, what, I don't tell anyone and just let him march right up to us?" Bevin turns and paces, rubbing at her eyes. " _Fuuuck_." It wasn't the first time that she bemoaned such a curse of Sight. She could see the future but couldn't change it before it became catastrophic?

"Yes." He agrees, a deep sadness heard within his voice. "I will help you how I can. There are those who can still be saved!"

Cole proceeds to point out the locations of those around Haven who would become trapped within their homes, under debris, or were to be overwhelmed by the enemy. There are other details he is able to fill in for her. He turns to her and his speech is fraught with haste, and she figures out why as his words fade and the vision falls away. "You must go now, but I'll see you again - soon. I will help!"

Bevin sat up from where she had crumpled to the ground by the door. For several minutes, she was unable to do anything but stare at the floor, attempting to go over every aspect of the latest vision. How could she just sit and wait out the next hours while an army was coming to destroy them?

The door opening towards her finally jostled her attention away from her thoughts. When it bumped into her and didn't open all the way, a head poked out from the opening and looked down.

Coming home to her picking herself off the ground from a vision was a common enough occurrence that Solas was not immediately alarmed. "I thought surely _you_ would be amongst the celebrations?"

When she didn't respond beyond turning her face up to look at him blankly, he became noticeably worried, squeezing himself through what space there was around the door. He crouched next to her. "You are quite pale. Are you alright?"

Her mouth tried to form the words, but she couldn't find her voice. She felt sick to her stomach.

He must have seen the distress on her face. "A vision?"

She gave up and merely nodded. He cursed.

Solas helped her to her feet and over to her bed. He pulled out her desk chair to sit across from her, wearily passing a hand over his head with a troubled sigh. He was quite aware of her stance of keeping mum about her visions unless deemed necessary or inconsequential, but reiterated his support nonetheless, "I am here should you need anything."

Bevin apologized through a tight-lipped smile, "Sorry." She didn't like not being able to tell him the details of stuff like this. It was in his nature to be curious, and she hoped he didn't get too far in his reading into her that he would try to do anything that could upset what was to happen.

She found her phone and set an alarm for her best guesstimate of the time of the attack. Unlike with the first vision, this time she had made sure to take in hints for when it would occur. Letting herself fall back into her pillows, she tried to get some sleep to recover energy. But she was too restless and sleep wouldn't come. Casting a glance at Solas, she noted that he had also shoved important things into his satchel, taking cues and knowing without her saying anything that this vision would come to pass very soon. His staff stood ready by the door, his robes hung nearby to throw on. A mirror of her own.

She thought of the others. They'd have no time to snatch up personal items. If they were lucky, the Inquisition would manage to protect some important things.

A whole new guilt filled her. She couldn't help them with that. They would be better off after this never knowing she had foreseen the attack. There would be too many questions and no matter what they were, her answers would not be enough. Many people were still going to die. How could she tell them that this was the best outcome that she had Seen?

But Nikki… She would understand. And all she had of her home where a couple things. If she never got her wish of going back, that was all she'd ever have, and Bevin knew they were important to her.

"Where's Nikki?" she brought herself to ask.

Solas sat back, head tilting in thought. "I last saw her at the tavern with some of the others."

She sat up and dragged herself from the bed. His questioning gaze followed her. "I'll be right back," was all she gave as she ducked out the door, goal in mind.

Dodging around villagers and soldiers, she slowly made her way to Nikki's home, imparting half-hearted hurrahs to those who crossed her path. She entered the house as casually as she could, not wanting to look out of place.

It was easy to eye the items that Nikki held close to her. The couple keychain baubles on her nightstand. The worn picture that looked like it had lived folded in a purse for years. She gathered these up along with a few other things.

Pulling open a desk drawer revealed her phone. Bevin hadn't seen her use it in quite awhile. The other woman had gone so far as to tell her to hang onto the solar charger since she used hers much more often. She grabbed it anyway.

Taking one last look around, her eyes fell on the modern t-shirt thrown on a pile of dirty clothes. She picked it up and neatly bundled the items inside.

The trip had only taken her a few minutes, she realised after she returned to her own home and placed the bundle inside her pack. She still had who-knew-how-long until the attack.

Bevin dropped down back onto her bed and spent the next few hours hazing in and out of a troubled sleep. The moment her phone sounded off its set alarm near her head, she was hit with a surge of jitter-inducing adrenaline. Sitting up uneasily, she locked eyes with Solas. Her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest, but she got up and strode across the room to peer out the opposite window towards the mountains.

She wasn't sure if it was her eyes playing tricks on her at first with her exhausted restlessness, though she saw it: just cresting the mountain pass came the light of torches. Solas was beside her then, face grim and arms crossed.

"I suppose I must defer to your judgment on this." He wasn't happy about it, but knew that he had much less of the picture than she did.

"I guess it won't make much difference now since you'll be hearing about it shortly. But yes, the Elder One's forces are coming to attack. The others can't know that I Saw this - they...they won't understand that this _is_ the outcome for our best chances." She watched as he went to sling his robes on. "So don't look too eager. I'll explain all this crap later."

It wasn't long after that that the alarm bells were being rung and shouting filled the air. Bevin, comparatively, took her time dressing and settling her pack over her shoulders. A last minute idea came to mind.

She turned to where he waited. "There's a boy, Cole, who will be at the main gate soon - he's here to help. Ask him to fill you in on what he told me - I _promise_ he'll know what that means. I want you two to concentrate on evacuating everyone into the Chantry. Find Roderick. There's some other way out from there that he knows about." Solas wasn't needed on the frontlines - he would be among those to come back to evacuate people anyway, so this would give them a head start. She would take his place on defense.

After that, she had a bigger plan: mitigate damages from the damn dragon. She hadn't seen the thing directly in the first vision, so didn't know its exact course, but if she could fend off even some of its attacks, she could make things much easier on the others. Or she could get maimed and killed by a dragon.

"Everyone will be down by the gate." She made to open the door, but Solas stayed her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Bevin...please be careful," he bid.

Though she could make no promises, she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring nod.

They arrived at the gate in time to hear that the invading forces marched under no banner. Her eyes drifted past the others, landing on the gate. They would learn soon exactly who they were and for whom they marched.

And right on cue: "Please, I can't come in unless you open!"

As before, Nikki ran forward to open the gate. They were treated to the sight of Cole dispatching a Templar by driving a knife into his back. Other bodies were strewn about again.

This time, he addressed the Herald. "I'm Cole. I came to help. People are coming to hurt you and the Oracle. But you probably already knew that…"

Surprised, Nikki asked, "You know what's happening?"

Cole's tone became more ominous, "The Templars have come to kill you."

The Commander, angered, interjected, "The Templars? Is this the Order's response to our talks with the Mages? Attacking blindly?"

"The Red Templars went to the Elder One. He knows of both of you." Cole turned his head to peer up at Bevin, who had remained back a little ways. "He's very angry that you took his Mages." He spun to the mountain pass and pointed towards one of the cliffs. "There."

They were specks from this distance, but Bevin didn't doubt him.

Nikki was hastily suiting up the armor that someone had grabbed for her. "Do we have any kind of plan for this kind of thing?" she asked Cullen.

The Commander frowned. "Haven's no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we _must_ control the battle. Get out there and hit that force with everything we can." He pointed to the locations of their defensive weaponry. "Help defend the trebuchets - once they are primed, they can be put to good use."

As Nikki returned to the others to settle on a quick plan, the Commander raised his sword high and bid their soldiers to fight with a mighty rallying cry. There were echoes of "for your life!" and "with the Chosen!" as they surged forth.

Cole was at her side then, looking torn. He responded to the yet unspoken request on her tongue, "I understand. I will help him." She wouldn't waste time asking how he knew that the plan had changed. The boy looked to Solas. "Follow me!"

The elf looked to her, no little amount of unease in his movements but took off with Cole.

There were two trebuchets. The rest of them were splintering off into groups to cover each one and the land between. Bevin followed down the closer path towards the northern trebuchet. She arrived to the enemy climbing over the log barrier wall. Some were already engaged with their own soldiers.

Casting a shield on the trebuchet, she erected her own barrier and began picking off those trying to climb over. She spared a shot at a Templar raising his sword to the trebuchet. Looking around, she called out to Blackwall to get rid of him.

A blow came to her barrier, so hard that it threw her forward. She could feel her magic splintering around her. Another blow came before she could face her attacker, completely shattering her defense.

A hulking giant of a Templar was on her, raising his sword again. Odd red crystalline growths overtook large areas of his body - red lyrium? Bevin tried to bring forth her barrier once more, but found that she couldn't maintain it. It felt like her mana was begin drained from her, warped somehow. The Veil would not listen to her. Was this the effect that trained Templars had on Mages?

A blast of fire came from behind her and managed to stagger the red Templar. "Don't get too close to them!" Dorian pulled her back to a safer distance as a barrage of arrows struck the enemy.

It took her a few minutes to shake off the effects of the Templar, but it looked like they had this area back under control. They planned on calibrating the trebuchets to hit the mountainside over the pass to force a rockslide. Once they received the ready signal from the other group, they sent back their own.

The southern one fired moments later, quickly followed by their shot. Both attacks hit the mountain and the ensuing slide collided with the enemy and fully blocked off the mountain passage. Hurrahs were heard as their first success bolstered morale.

That minor victory, however, proved to be short lived. The roar echoed through the mountains.

Bevin tried hard to swallow her nerves knowing that the real work had just begun.

The dragon came swooping through the air, right towards the keep. With a breath, it easily took out the other trebuchet in a fiery explosion.

She wanted to run to help them, but knew that it was likely to come their way to try the same.

The dragon circled high, getting ready to make a pass towards them. "Dorian!" she called out, waving the other Mage to come closer. "It's coming for this one. Help me with a barrier." She had an idea, but didn't want to try it without backup in case it failed.

"By your lead!" he shouted back, his mana flaring out in preparation.

Concentrating, Bevin did the same, pushing her mana to cover the area and encapsulate it in a barrier. Bolstered by Dorian's magic forming to it, she was confidant that it was sturdy enough to withstand an attack.

The next bit was something that she'd never admit was an idea taken from an instance in a videogame - at least as experimental magic in a time of crisis. The inspiration for such magic came to her from a particular, highly frustrating boss fight in Final Fantasy X where she'd had to spend forever reflecting magic back and forth in the hopes of it finally hitting the damn thing. With luck, this dragon would not be prepared for such a thing.

The base was there in the form of minor glyphs and spells used for creating a basic mirror reflection, typically a kind of illusory magic. But, as Bevin had learned, magic here was often only categorized on its end product with the same spell sometimes having multiple outcomes based on how it was enforced by Will. With some tweaking and Will-work, she could apply Reflect as a barrier enhancement spell to reflect attacks back on their sender.

As her glyphs settled onto her barrier, the once clear surface became murky. Dorian was shooting her worried looks and others were raising shields in defense, but she ignored them to focus on the dragon that had aligned itself for an attack and was fast coming their way.

Their barrier gave it no pause as it reared its head back and sent another fireball at them before passing. The piercing sound of shattering glass met their ears as the barrier came crashing down from the impact. Everyone instinctively covered themselves, but the attack had been blocked.

Bevin grinned, not just blocked, the fireball was now arching its way through the sky to the field. Though now she worried about the lack of aim of reflecting an attack from a moving enemy. The dragon was too fast. Unless done at very close range or to a static point, it had the chance of hitting friend as well as foe.

"You'll have to show me that one once we're out of this mess," Dorian said, trying to remain optimistic.

Climbing up the platform of the trebuchet, Bevin looked out beyond the wall. Everyone was now on the retreat, the enemy fast on their heels. Select people were urging others to head to the main gate. Bodies from both sides littered the mountainside and fields. She was thankful that she didn't recognize any of them.

She was torn. If they couldn't get out, then this trebuchet was an important asset. If she - if they - left it to retreat with the others, it would likely be destroyed in the effort to block them in. But there was little point in the weapon if the enemy managed destroy the rest of their ranks in the retreat.

There was a tug on her robes. "We must leave!" Dorian was shouting as he pointed with his staff towards those scrambling in the direction of the Chantry.

Bevin climbed back down and they ran back into the heart of the keep. From the sounds, she knew that other areas of Haven had been breached. She paused in the street, taking everything in. The roads were clear of bodies, the fires had only just started to her left. So this was going...she couldn't say 'well,' but _better_. Even though she had her visions, she hadn't realised just how quickly everything had occurred and gone to shit.

Leaving the others to take care of the enemies on the ground, she looked to the sky again for that damn dragon. She couldn't hope to even try to erect a barrier big enough for the whole of Haven, so she'd have to cast shields as the thing attacked.

"Oh, you're going to make a personal enemy of the _dragon_ ," she heard Dorian whine. "Insane woman, there is a perfectly good Templar right _there,_ " he shot ice at the one in question, "that you can attack while dodging fireballs with the rest of us."

"The dragon's the reason why…" She realised she couldn't finish that sentence. The dragon was why they originally had so many casualties. That wasn't so anymore. Even though she had only blocked one attack, that - or _something_ \- seemed to have stunted its destructive progress towards Haven. Bevin shook her head resolutely.

Dorian made a grumble of frustration. "I'll cover you."

Returning to her task, she watched as it honed in on houses on the right. Normally, directional shields were a no-no, but she needed to conserve as much energy as possible. Mana was heavy in the air with all the fighting, but it was sluggish to draw in with the presence of so many Templars.

Her reflective shield snapped into focus moments before the fire hit. Like before, it shattered, but the fire bounced off and out of the way. However, the dragon was quick with another breath as it swooped over the village again. She ran the distance to keep up, unable to effectively cast much beyond a couple hundred feet.

Again she reflected the attack, again the dragon would circle around to set fire to Haven. This repeated several more times as she kept track of those still fighting their way towards the Chantry.

With an irritated huff, the dragon skipped its other targets and spewed a line of fire straight at her. Unable to reflect such a wide area of attack, she was only able to cast a barrier around herself and those still fighting near her. It got uncomfortably toasty, but they were safe. The buildings around them had gone up in flames, though.

Following this last failed attack on their lives, the dragon let out a furious roar. A mighty gust of air heralded its sudden landing in the middle of the village. It let out another screech, its tail thrashing madly about behind it.

She had no time to think or move out of its way, in seconds it had charged towards her and sent her crashing through wood with a single swipe of a foot.

The exact procession of her flight was lost to the reeling of her head upon landing. Smoke clogged her lungs and she could feel the tingling of fire close to her skin. A sharp ache began to take root in her hip and leg. A sense of familiarity settled over her.

There was a blast - clearing magic. Hands were on her to roll and lift her, but she made out the voice to be Solas, not Cassandra, as he let out a string of admonishments among curses. She raised a hand to wipe dirt out of her eyes as she's carried into the Chantry.

Unable to help herself, she laughed. Try as you could, you wouldn't outrun Fate forever.

She noticed immediately that there were only a few people gathered here with several key faces missing. "What's going on?" she asked as they paused aside from the group. He sat her down against the wall and began checking over her injuries.

"We have been able to evacuate most under the Chancellor's guidance," he explained. His face was still full of worry, though, so she knew that there was more to it than that.

"Then why are we still here?" she prompted.

"What they are discussing presently." He nodded towards the Commander, Leliana, Nikki, and a couple others. "If we are to leave like this, the Elder One will only follow and hunt us down."

She tuned into what Cullen was saying, "If we can get to the remaining trebuchet, we could launch one last attack. It would bury Haven, but it would buy us time to get everyone out of the area."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Cole drift back into the room to stand awkwardly between them. "The Elder One does not want Haven, he wants the Herald and Prophet. Though mostly you." He sheepishly looked to Nikki, then tilted his head to Bevin. "He's questioning if _you're_ dead after losing control of the Archdemon."

"I'll do it then! If it'll get everyone else out of here safely, he can have me." Nikki appeared very determined.

Her jaw dropped. "But that's a suicide mission!" Bevin scrambled to get up, ignoring the protesting from her leg as she braced herself on a protesting Solas, then hobbled the few steps over to Leliana. "There's gotta be something better!" When nothing was forthcoming, she turned to her fellow earthling. "I'll go with you." She felt like this whole thing was suddenly spinning out of control again after it had been going so much more in their favor.

" _You_ are hardly in any shape to go back out there," Leliana shot her down. When she went to object, the Nightingale simply pushed her hip against hers to brush off her weak hold and down she went with a cry as her leg gave out.

There were heaves and strikes at the heavy Chantry doors now.

The Nightingale rejoined the rushed conversation with the Commander and Nikki. "If we are to do this it must be _now_. Take a small group with you to remain as inconspicuous as possible."

She wasn't allowed to hear any more of the plan as Solas had picked her back up and marched her out through some back cranny door of the Chantry. Her words to return fell fruitlessly to his ears until he snapped, "Enough! You cannot even walk."

She tested her toes and limbs now for good measure. Everything was progressively healing. Given a bit more time, she'd be good as new. "Can so!"

This only made him sigh in heavy exasperation. She thought he'd let her walk on her own given her answer of confidence, but he only tightened his grip. "You can put me down now."

"No."

She huffed and crossed her arms, not at all eager for the impending pent up lecture she knew would come eventually. They walked in silence as they caught up to the others. This path lead to a small, nearly hidden tunnel in the undergrowth that took them through the mountain. Soldiers ran to and fro helping carry supplies and waving everyone on.

"You're seriously going to carry me the whole damn way?"

"Yes."

A soldier stopped beside them, breathing harshly in the torchlight. "Once out, you'll head due west until you meet the cliffside, round it to the north and you'll meet where we are gathering to leave. From there, we'll be travelling towards the northwest through the mountains."

They thanked him, and she watched as he continued to the next person to make sure they knew where to go next.

Soon, they left the tunnel and headed towards the cliffs through the snow. It wasn't deep yet but promised to become more difficult for them to traverse the further they went.

It was beginning to come down harder, as well. "There's a storm coming," she warned. "For the love of- Put me _down,_ Solas!"

With a clench of his jaw, he finally acquiesced to her demand and halted his steps to allow her to regain her footing. "Stay near me."

She rolled her eyes. It wasn't like she could go running off anywhere right now. Bevin set to work reactivating the heating glyphs on her clothing. Realising then that she didn't have her staff, she looked over and saw it stuck to Solas' back alongside his own. Reaching out, she asked, "Can I have my-"

He interrupted her brusquely, "No."

Bevin let her hand fall to her side. The tension rolled off of him. She knew he would be and was upset with her seeming recklessness, among other things, but she had never seen him this angry before.

The group they met with was cold, confused, and terrified, but it looked a lot larger than she had expected.

"The rest will be here soon, then it is up to the Herald," Cole spoke from beside her. "He's unhappy," he stated looking to where Solas stood.

"Very aware of that, Cole." She smiled wanly at him.

"But he understands," he added. The boy walked off to mingle between the huddled groups.

Well, that was the best she could hope for and probably why he hadn't chewed her head off on the walk here.

Several minutes dragged by until the final members of the group were cresting over the nearby hill to join them. Faces were missing from among them, reigniting her nerves. Most of her hoped that Nikki wouldn't go through with it, but...

She snagged Leliana as she passed. "Where's Dorian?"

The woman looked back towards where the keep was beyond the snow and cliffs. "He has chosen to accompany the Herald alongside two scouts. They have been given instructions on where to meet and the direction we will soon be headed." The Nightingale shook her head in attempt to shake exhaustion. "We cannot afford to wait here long. Maker watch over them." She continued on to rejoin the Commander who was looking at a section of map with a group of scouts.

Only another twenty or thirty minutes passed until a crash resounded through the mountains and a cloud of dirt and snow rose into the early morning air signalling the fall of Haven. The group was silent in the aftermath, though there were murmurs of "what now?"

No-one was sure of that answer right now, but they would keep on. She was just glad that there were many more able to live to witness this moment.


	18. These Paths We Walk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never liked Seggrit. Going back and replaying, I'm not entirely sure why beyond that he seems rather arrogant/whiny. I thought he'd made comments in the game using derogatory remarks towards elves, but fuck if I could refind that, so maybe I'm wrong. Whatever. Now he's a plot tool.
> 
> Upon receiving some comments looking for refreshers regarding Bevin's powers and the spirit and other stuff, I've decided to hash that all out in one convenient place on my tumblr: <https://mrfancyfoot.tumblr.com/post/155738450064/some-assembly-required-it-didnt-come-with>
> 
> The above post also includes spoilers for nearly everything, which I've sectioned off, so visit at your own peril or desire.
> 
> Word count: ~4,500

* * *

The group had headed north for the morning before settling on a spot to wait for the others left behind. They waited the better part of the day, far longer than they should have, for any signs of the Herald and those who had chosen to go with her. Beyond that, they had to start moving, if nothing else because the snow and wind had reached harsh levels and they needed to find shelter from it against the mountainside to take pressure off the Mages working to keep them all out of the worst of it.

No-one knew where they were going yet, but there was a fear that if they remained in one spot too long that the Elder One's forces would catch up or find them. The number of injured and those unaccustomed to such difficult travel further made the going very slow.

As they trudged on, she kept looking over her shoulder for any sign of Nikki or Dorian. She couldn't even make out any potential mana signatures in this weather at this distance.

Cole had become a regular presence at her side as he tried to cheer her up, though he also liked to walk alongside the pack animals and few small children they had. Solas still wasn't letting her out of his sight as he stewed, but even his chilly attitude towards her seemed to be wearing away.

The day was bad, but the night was worse. The cold seeped in. It was hard for anyone to sleep, but that was overcome by utter exhaustion by most. Worse was the lack of food available for this many people. They had enough supplies for a few days at best under strict rationing, so many were travelling in these conditions hungry. Scouts and soldiers were sent off ahead in hopes of finding game to hunt down, anything to keep them going.

This night's meal was a bland, hot gruel that settled like a rock into her stomach. She forced it down while across a fire from some guy that kept staring at her. Her hip and leg were still a bit twingy from being thrown about by a dragon and then continuing to walk on it while still sore and healing, adding to her overall irritable mood. She tried not to look at him as she felt his eyes following her stiff movements.

That was, until he hacked spit towards her feet.

Her eyes automatically shot to him in a disapproving scowl at the disgusting gesture. In the dim firelight it took her a moment to recognize him as he openly glared at her.

Fucking _Seggrit_. She'd briefly berated the man before over his derogatory remarks towards the elves of Haven. As such, he wasn't exactly a friendly presence towards her and she avoided him where possible. _Someone_ seemed to have festered some unhealthy feelings.

She was almost loathe to ask but was out of fucks to give at the moment, " _What_ is your problem?"

He seethed in silence. Alright by her, she really didn't care.

"How does it feel?" he sneered once he couldn't hold it back anymore. " _You_ could have prevented this!"

"What?" Had he seen or heard something from that night? Or was this a baseless accusation - 'blame the psychic who should have seen this coming'?

"I saw you!" he screamed at her as he jumped up from where he sat. Seggrit threw his arms towards her in a wild gesture pointing. "I saw _you!_ Your eyes glowed, then you- you jumped up and _ran off_ in an awful big hurry. Like you had seen something big, something _important!_ But I never saw you tell anyone."

Bevin didn't like that they were gathering a crowd from the noise. "What are you insinuating?" she hissed back. "My incompetence? Or do you think that I wanted this to happen?"

There were whispers now, but he only seemed more emboldened by the attention. "You saw it and did nothing! _Nothing,_ to save Haven!"

A woman was looking at her in horror. "So, it's true?" People were already jumping to conclusions from Seggrit's dumb words.

Her eyes widened as her own panic set in. She needed damage control but didn't know what to do as the whispering turned into a murmuring din surrounding them. Would they even understand the truth?

"Yes, I Saw the attack. When _no-one_ survived the fall of Haven." Though as soon as she confirmed their fears and anger, the talking increased to where her following words were nearly drowned out completely. Her frustration that no-one was bothering to listen to her anymore fueled her own anger. They were closing in on her as the nearest scapegoat for this tragedy. She turned on Seggrit again, "Would you like to hear how you died? Trapped beneath the wood of your own home as the fires ate at you, _burning you alive._ Your screams calling out in vain as no-one rushes to your aid."

Some were watching her again. She picked a familiar face out of the crowd. "Or you, Flissa? Meeting a similar fate trapped unconscious beneath the debris of the tavern… Or how Adan and Minaeve would become trapped beneath exploding barrels." She spun around meeting the eyes of individuals. "The list goes on. And on."

But when faced with his own mortality, Seggrit only doubled down. " _Lies!_ " he yelled back. "We could have fought back!"

And that set off the crowd. They were adamant that they could have won, could have saved Haven _if only_ they had been warned. Maybe there was a version, a string of events she hadn't been privy to where that was the case, but that was not what ultimately played out.

A shoe was chucked at her. Narrowly dodging, she felt her mana sparking up in defense.

But she was pulled away by a strong grip on her arm. She could hear the Commander demanding everyone back off and settle down, that they would look into the matter.

She was still bristling as she ducked into a tent closely followed by Leliana. With a huff, she crossed her arms and waited for the others to join them.

They all looked like they hadn't slept in weeks, which probably wasn't far from the truth, though the last few days had definitely taken their toll the worst. The one face she hadn't expected to be there was the Chancellor's. He must not have been gravely injured since Solas and Cole sought him out at the beginning.

She wasn't the only one looking at him oddly, to which he replied simply, "I would like to hear what she has to say."

Cullen ran a hand over his head with a roll of his eyes. "Perhaps start from the beginning, Bevin."

Her nerves settled more with just them here. Most of them weren't likely to rush to any conclusions. "The beginning was that night, during the celebrations after we closed the Breach. There wasn't much to the first vision. I was being dragged from a burning house, heavily injured, and brought to the Chantry where I heard talking. There was discussion of a 'last stand,' but then the Chancellor," she gestured towards Roderick, who didn't seem at all surprised by this revelation, "mentioned that he knew of a pilgrimage path out of Haven that we could use to evacuate people. Nikki then volunteers to be part of a distraction. That's when _that one_ fades out."

"'That one'?" Cassandra interjections at the pause in her explanation. "You mean you saw more after? That's...new, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's never happened before." She shrugged, then continued on. "I went home so that I could think and sort out what it meant. I came to the conclusion that I, of course, had to warn you guys so that we could prepare. But as I was leaving, I was right back in another vision. This one was worse." She shivered, partly due to the cold and partly to revisioning the fire and screams that had enveloped Haven so completely that no-one survived the second onslaught. "I had warned everyone so that we could mount our defenses and offense. I knew there was a dragon or some beast from the roars in the first vision, but we didn't know how to prepare for it. We sent our troops out meet Corypheus' forces head on, but… The dragon _alone_ completely annihilated them. And it was all downhill from there."

Bevin decided against including Cole's involvement in her vision, still unsure herself exactly what _that_ meant. "This one lasted longer through the...ordeal, so I tried to take down places where people could possibly be saved. But this vision meant that if I told anyone about it, if we prepared for the fight, we got slaughtered. So I didn't. I prepared _myself_. We couldn't make large changes, but I could still potentially make small ones. The attack was going to happen no matter what, but this appeared to be the path for the best outcome." They'd had this argument before when she had stopped telling them of her visions, about how even small things like simply telling someone could alter the future, so she hoped they wouldn't get back into that again.

"And these 'small changes'?" the Commander urged her to explain.

"I asked Solas to find the Chancellor, Cole asked to go with him. I filled them in on specific areas and people to help evacuate before they were in danger." She took in a breath. "I didn't know exactly when it would come into play this time, but, with Dorian's backup, I helped provide safeguards against the dragon. First for the trebuchet, then within Haven. Everything played out like the first vision from there, but with much less fire and many more survivors. I had opted not to tell anyone other than Solas, who still doesn't know all the details, because I didn't think most would understand."

"I will confirm that the apostate, along with the curious boy, prompted me to remember the pilgrimage path following their message that Our Prophet had a vision of my aid. It was by whim that I had even walked that path one Summer. It truly must be by Andraste's grace that, with so many in the Conclave dead, I was the only one to remember it." He looked remorseful. "And then again for Our Lady to show you these events. I am truly ashamed to have ever doubted."

Well, this was a turn that she hadn't at all expected. The Chancellor, who had frequently gone on about how she and Nikki, false prophets, needed to be in chains and tried for their part in the Conclave explosion, was now advocating for her.

He straightened and addressed the advisors, "I think we must remember that these visions that our Prophet is granted are but a privilege to us. We must trust that she will act in the interests of the Maker, which may not always be apparent or in _our_ best interest."

She could fucking kiss the man.

Leliana spoke up, her words resounding as a final judgment that left no room for argument, "He is right. We must trust Our Prophet's judgment here. We do not have the luxury of Seeing what she is shown. We, and the people, must understand that." The others nodded. If there was any disagreement, they at least felt that now wasn't the time to air it. "Our people are scared looking to point blame. This must be put to rest before infighting becomes our downfall."

"Mother Giselle and I will attempt to calm the masses," Roderick offered, "but I am afraid this will only continue so long as we remain without a goal or safe haven." The Chancellor then left and the arguing about what to do commenced again. With a sigh, Bevin snuck out of the tent.

She watched Roderick walk up to the Mother and they spoke quietly together. With all the stares and angry looks still directed her way, Bevin skirted the outer edge of the camp to retreat to her own tent. About halfway there was when the prickling at the back of mind began.

Stopping, she concentrated on it. Distantly, a mana signature was approaching from the south, but it was wavering.

Her breath caught - could it be Dorian? She couldn't tell from this distance yet.

Bevin threw her hood up, giving little further thought as she took off towards it. The near-blizzard conditions still made it next to impossible to see very far, but she didn't need visibility to track energy. She worried that she was potentially wrong, however, when it seemed to veer off further east.

After what felt like forever of walking through the snow as fast as she could, she finally felt that inkling of familiarity in the mana. Efforts validated, her steps quickened as she pushed on to meet him and, hopefully, the others.

As a shadowed figure came into view, she started calling out, "Dorian!"

There was a delay in an answer, but it came, "Here!"

They grew closer and she could see that he was huddled with what looked to be an injured scout as they forced a path through the snow.

"Dorian!" she called again in relief as they finally met.

"Bevin, my dear!" he greeted. "And, I don't know who you are, but I am glad to see your face nonetheless!"

Startled by those words, Bevin jumped and looked behind her.

From beneath his hat, Cole's wide eyes met her own. "I thought you might need help since he still has your staff."

Oh, yeah. She had forgotten about that. She'd left the camp without her primary weapon. Though she hadn't realised that Cole had followed her all the way out here. What _was_ he?

"I'm a spirit," he answered to her thoughts.

But that didn't matter right now. "What happened? Where's Nikki?" she asked of Dorian.

"We got separated in the fight once we got to the trebuchet. The other scout didn't make it. We circled back after looking for the Herald, but we were unable to find her. As we're both injured, we figured it best to locate you all while we still could." As he spoke, Bevin could see the burns covering them and blood seeping from untended wounds. They needed medical attention quickly.

She looked out in the direction of Haven. There was...something there. Nikki wasn't dead. "Cole, help them get to the others. I...I can feel her. She's still alive."

Bevin didn't stick around for them to argue or agree or whatever. It wasn't the same as with Dorian, but _something_ was calling out to her.

Nikki was found collapsed a couple more miles out, half buried in the snow and nearly dead. Signs of hypothermia had set in. Unable to get her to the others herself in any expedient way, Bevin expanded her barrier to encompass them both and laid out fire glyphs to heat it up while she set about removing her armor to rub heat directly into the woman's clothes to dry them.

When Bevin felt the presence of others approaching, Nikki had only just begun to regain consciousness. She sent out a flair of mana, hoping there was a Mage in their search party to feel it since the snow would make anything nearly impossible to see.

"A-are the others safe?" Nikki struggled to ask around numb lips and tongue.

"Yeah, most are fine right now," she assured her friend. "Get you back and I think they'll have a reason for a little bit of cheer."

And, for the most part, she was right. Their Herald was welcomed with open arms and having her back among them seemed to bolster morale, even if only a little in the bleakness of it all.

A group sing-a-long was definitely the last thing that she had expected mere hours into settling back into camp with Nikki.

* * *

"You are limping again."

"I hadn't noticed," Bevin passively mumbled. Her trek out of the camp in search of the others had likely disrupted the healing of her leg again, possibly even setting it back further. She had just plunked herself down in front of the fire with a needle and thread to begin to attempt to stitch together some of the worn spots and holes in her robes and leggings.

He stilled the retort on his tongue and merely shook his head as he stood beside her. "Bevin, we must speak."

"Of what?" she asked, curiosity partially rearing its head.

"Privately," was all he added as he turned and walked away.

Her lips pouted, but she stuffed her sewing supplies away again and stood to reluctantly follow after him. Dread settled over her as she expected him to bring up the talk she'd been avoiding.

Solas lead her out of camp a little ways to the edge of the nearby cliff drop-off.

He faced out towards the valley below as he spoke quietly. "The orb Corypheus carries is Elvhen in origin. He used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave."

"Don't wanna imagine how people will react when they find that out," she sighed. "Already a testy bunch."

"Indeed," he agreed solemnly.

Bevin frowned. "So what is the orb?" It wasn't something that she had yet heard of.

He was quick to explain, "They are foci, used to channel ancient magics. I've seen such things in the Fade. Old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter, his empire's magic was built on the bones of my people. Knowing or not, he risks our lives - I cannot allow it." She could feel the anger simmering off of him, the tension he held in his shoulders. Perhaps this was more what commanded his steely countenance lately.

"I can see how elves might become an easy target." Always gotta have someone to blame. Scapegoat the little people who were easy to pick on while Corypheus remained out of reach.

"History would agree, but there are steps we can take to prevent this distraction." He motioned with his head to indicate, "To the north there is a stronghold, a place that I have seen memories of in the Fade. It lies abandoned, but the Inquisition may use it to build anew. Tonight I will visit the fortress, ensure that it is safe before anyone is lead there."

With her focus shifted, her powers reached out in search. There, deep within the mountains, an energy gathered.

Solas appeared to be studying the sky. "I would like for you to cover for me. You should expect me back before dawn breaks."

"How…" She looked back to him, squinting, not understanding. Then it clicked. "Ooh, you're actually going to… Yeah, okay. Got it." He would enter the Fade to travel there. Otherwise, that journey could take days on foot just the one way there, nevermind coming back. And since he was Fadewalking, he didn't want anyone to realise that he was missing.

He turned towards her once that was settled. "I must apologize. I had not meant to be so short with you these past days."

And now she felt bad because he was apologizing first when he didn't really have any reason to do so in the first place. "No, I get it. I did dumb stuff that probably justified it."

"You…" he searched for words, stepping closer, "cause me a great deal of worry. I care about you, Bevin. I do not enjoy seeing you hurt."

She felt her face flush in shame. She hadn't meant to cause anyone worry, least of all him. It was still something she was coming to terms with. In the past, no-one had really ever looked out for her, so she was used to being on her own and doing things on her own terms. There was no-one to worry; there was no-one to worry about - except herself.

"So, _please:_ try to remain out of trouble for at least this short while." It shouldn't be as impossible as he seemed to make that sound.

She grinned at him and flashed a thumbs-up. "Will avoid any and all dragons, got it."

They headed back into camp, the air of tension that had been between them dissolving.

" _Oh, look at you two making up,"_ a forgotten voice chimed out, making her stumble a step.

" _Where the hell have_ you _been?"_ Bevin questioned the spirit, playing off the missed step on her injured leg when Solas voiced his concern.

" _Your powers take a lot out of me,"_ the elf said, sounding as if she was still half asleep. " _You aren't recovering your mana as fast as you normally would since you are out in the middle of no-where with weakened forces."_

That explained why her healing seemed to be taking so long to complete. Not that she was complaining - a normal hip and femur fracture would leave a person incapacitated for weeks, if not months in _her_ world. Such an injury was practically deadly here. Though she had no idea how bad the breaks originally were for how fast the initial mending had gone, so maybe they weren't as bad as she thought.

The spirit hummed in thought. " _You know, he could have merely left with no-one being any the wiser."_

" _For as short a time as he's planning, yeah, probably,"_ Bevin readily agreed. " _I'm not even sure that I would have noticed him gone for a just night."_ She'd rather been avoiding him til now, after all, going so far as to retire to sleep before him in the tent they shared intermittently with Blackwall.

" _He's showing that he trusts you with such knowledge, my dear."_ The presence of the spirit retreated to the back of her mind once more as she quieted, leaving Bevin to think on her parting words.

* * *

True to his words, Solas had reappeared, stepping from the Fade within their tent, just before dawn the following morning. She had only noticed since she had been drifting in and out of sleep attuned to signs of the whisper of his mana. Seeing him wearily flop down on his bedroll to catch a couple hours of shut eye calmed her thoughts enough for her to roll over and fall asleep once more.

She took her breakfast with some familiar faces in lieu of waking her companion with her clumsy commotion in the tent. People still stared and talked about her behind her back following the talks the Chancellor and Mother Giselle lead while she was away, but she found that she was in a much better mood this day and was averse to letting anything bring it back down.

Varric was the first to greet her over their card game, "You're looking a fair bit better today, Sneezy."

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask- what's with the nickname?" Iron Bull asked, flopping a pair of cards down. Bevin took the available seat next to him wearily. She still wasn't sure what to make of him, though Varric and Dorian seemed to be warming up to him. Apart from the snide comments from the latter, anyway.

Varric chuckled, eyeing the cards on the pile before plucking his own from his hand. "When we first met, magic made her sneeze. But maybe it was just Solas."

Dorian, well knowing of the real reason behind the phenomenon, merely laughed along. "Well, isn't that peculiar. I had always wondered. Though you seem to have grown quite used to him now." He gave her a wink.

"Wait, I thought you two _were_ a couple?" Bull looked down at her with what she thought was surprise as she choked on the spoon in her mouth. He tried to justify what he had thought to be true, "But you lived together. I'm not sure that I've ever truly seen you apart- though I've only been around a little while, to be fair."

"No, that's accurate," Dorian quipped, much to her chagrin.

Bull continued, "You're sharing a tent. I've seen the way he looks at you."

Varric joined in on this horrifying turn of conversation, "And where did you two disappear off to last night?" He interrupted her voiceless denial, "Uh-uh, you can't deny that one, I _saw_ you, girlie."

She stuttered at a loss for words, very aware that her face was turning all sorts of colors. "He just apologized for being angry at me following the stuff at Haven. He thinks I'm too 'reckless.'"

"Can't say I disagree with him there," Dorian grumbled. Varric nodded along to his words.

"I'll take the other side and say you got _my_ respect staring down a dragon like that. That takes _real_ balls." Bull grinned at her. "I'm a little jealous even."

Well, at least one person wasn't going to nag at her.

"Sooo, does that mean you're available?" Was he…? "'Cause you can take a ride on The Iron Bull any time you'd like." An eyebrow waggled at her. He was. He was hitting on her.

She laughed awkwardly. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." The man would break her in two but a part of her _was_ still curious.

"You want to be dealt in next round?" Varric asked, giving her a break from the ribbing.

"Nah, I'll just watch you guys for now," she replied, eyes catching Solas leading Nikki away on the other side of camp. His scouting of the fortress must have gone well if he was following through with the plan to second-handedly lead them there through Nikki's suggestions to the advisors, and thus the scouts that would take the Inquisition further north.

There were too many skeptics in their ranks still for the people to follow what _she_ had to suggest, so Nikki was the better choice to lead them right now. Bevin found that she was perfectly content to work behind the scenes.


	19. Tarasyl'an Te'las

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making a lot of interior changes to Skyhold. I am a firm believer that the place is much bigger than it appears to us in the game. It really has to be to comfortably hold the number of people that is suggested.
> 
> So, some helpful notes before diving in:
> 
> \- There is now a room above Josephine's Office, below the Inquisitor's bedroom. So, instead of a giant, empty spiraling staircase, most of that space is now a second, smaller bedroom for Bevin, with a more direct stairwell leading up. This bedroom's balcony is the top of the War Chamber.
> 
> \- There is now a large, open communal bathing area. It can be reached by a new hall and stairs leading off from the immediate left in the "basement" area (as if you were just entering it from its stairwell from Josie's office). It would be kind of next to the undercroft armory grotto (that's reached from the door to the right of the throne area, if you are facing the throne), but a floor or so further down and a little removed. Skyhold was built around plenty of moving water, so we'll pretend some of it is naturally (or magically) heated into a hot spring that's been fortified and prettied.  
> \- So the "basement" houses the kitchens, the winery, the lower library, the gold vault, and the bathing grotto.
> 
> There will be other additions as Skyhold rebuilds, but the bathing area is already established as a part of this Skyhold and just requires some repairs.
> 
> Words: ~3,900

* * *

Bevin looked on at the stronghold in awe. It was truly massive. She'd never been anywhere near anything like this in her life. Masses of energy swirled about it, pouring from around one rampart and twining around another. Some tendrils and clouds moved lazy as a forest river, others flew and tumbled quick as roaring rapids. The stone was veritably consumed by it.

It made her feel sick as she approached with everyone else, her footsteps slowing. The constant movement triggered vertigo within her. The closer they got, the worse the sensation grew.

Worst of all, she could feel that stupid itch starting up on her face again. There was so much free-flowing mana here that there was no way it wouldn't affect her. And it was all so _bright_. Her eyes hurt from squinting to see around it.

Everyone was agitated and antsy to arrive and begin settling. They'd been on their feet almost constantly for several days through the deep snow and ice of the mountains. She went unnoticed in the rush, reluctantly joining the tail end of the troupe staggering in through the main gate.

Mana pressed against and bore down upon her from all sides. It was strong and it felt _old_. Domineering. Wild. Almost like it had a mind of its own - though, given the Fade and its influence, it may well have. Was this really safe? Solas had ensured her, them, that it was safe for their occupation...

Sometimes it amazed her that others seemingly did not see energies the way she could. Her second conscious was just as thrown off by the energy as she was, the spirit withdrawing silently within her mind despite the full recovery of her mana stores.

Blinking, Cole was suddenly at her side.

"It makes you uncomfortable, this place," he stated somberly. "Slipping, surrounding, vibrant snakes of color. Too much, too bright, too here, too foreign. The ground, it moves as though on deep seas of-"

"Cole…"

"Yes!" he exclaimed, as though unhearing of her. "I know where it is less! I can help!" The boy hastily bid that she follow him. If he knew of some place here where she was affected less by all _this_ , she'd welcome it.

He lead her around the main keep of the fortress, maybe understanding that she wanted to avoid as many people as possible right now. No-one stopped them, no-one paid them any mind.

Through one door, then another. Right, door, hall. She lost track. They were going down, deeper into the belly of Skyhold. As they walked now, it grew damper and, oddly, warmer. The pressure of the immense power of the place was definitely lessening now for some reason.

After continuing forever down a long, dark hall that Bevin was too out of it to bother properly lighting, they finally came to a wide expanse of a cavern. The opposite side was almost totally open to the outer elements with areas partially caved away and in need of repair. Deep, steaming pools took up most of the space. A kind of hot spring? The waters flooded out on the far side to cascade over the edge.

Bevin found a mostly dry spot near a wall and sat down gracelessly on the stone. The coolness of the wall at least felt nice in the steamed room.

"Would you like me to stay with you?" the spirit boy asked, drifting close to her.

Bevin shook her head. "I'm going to be pretty out of commission for awhile and no use to anyone. I'm sure others would be appreciative of your help, Cole. Thank-you, though, this helps a lot." She gave him a tired smile.

His returning grin was faltering. "I like helping. This place hurts. It wants to be whole again."

Her eyes lazily scanned the cavern. "I'll take a look at these glyphs here once I'm feeling more up to it. We'll fix this place up, don't worry," she assured him before closing her eyes once more, lulled by the sound of the cascading waters.

"They would like that."

She opened her eyes, intending to ask who 'they' were, but Cole was nowhere to be found.

* * *

The first break they got saw the Inquisition's advisors gathering in the newly designated War Chamber of the Skyhold fortress. Tables and chairs had been pulled in from the main hall to make the meeting that bit more comfortable in getting them off their feet for a brief time, though they paced in turns as the topic of discussion became more heated.

"I would most certainly like to hear your reasoning, Commander." Leliana frowned, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the large oak table taking up the center of the room as she eyed the man critically.

"She has actual experience leading!" he exclaimed, referring to the few days when he and Nichole would walk to the frozen lakeshore and share stories of their past. "The Herald has shown tremendous growth in her skills as a warrior. Our forces respect her because she has spent time among them. All traits that I believe the leader of the Inquisition requires."

"If you are going to cite growth of character and strength, you cannot deny that Bevin has also made enormous strides as a Mage, Cullen," Josephine countered, pointing emphatically with her quill before continuing her note taking. "She has not exactly been absent among the people simply because she spends her time away from the training fields."

The Spymaster nodded. "And her overall understanding of this world. She has taken her studies to heart from the beginning. She is very aware of how her decisions affect others. I am afraid that the Herald yet struggles in these areas. She is not careful in her speech."

"That is true," Cassandra braced her hands on the back of a chair, pausing briefly before continuing, "however, I do have to agree with the Commander. The people - _all_ of them - are _far_ more ready to follow our Herald than the Prophet, and I believe _that_ is what is most important right now. Nichole heeds advisement easily enough. Absolute knowledge, while beneficial, may not be completely necessary. That is why we are here. Her judgments thereupon have been sound. She is...well-rounded."

"I...suppose I can see that argument," Josephine reluctantly agreed.

Leliana, sensing a losing argument, played her last card, "Perhaps we should inquire of them directly. They, too, deserve to voice their opinions on such a decision that will affect all of us."

* * *

After taking a long awaited, undisturbed nap on the hard, damp floor of what she had determined was most likely some kind of communal bathing area going by some of the decorative carvings on the walls, Bevin felt well enough to meander around a bit more.

Much of the glyph work she came across was intact, merely dormant due to lack of upkeep. Some areas with damage would need the glyph chains connected and rewritten. Some she recognized - like those for temperature control; most that she wasn't fully familiar with, she could work out through context - like the fortification and buffering magics; but a few were unknown to her.

Whole strands, dimly flickering to life only out of the corner of her eye, wrapped around the room at varying heights. Unreadable at all if she looked at them directly, she found herself crawling along the floor trying to make them out solely from her peripherals. From what she could see, they were the same set of seventeen glyphs repeating over and over again in horizontal lines.

Growing ever more curious, Bevin began drawing in missing glyphs - hardly knowing what she was actually writing - wherever there were distortions in this line as she travelled the perimeter of the room. Nothing happened even after the first few fixed, but as she finished the latest, a glimmer went through the line. Moments later, light began glowing along the line, partially lighting the room.

Bevin stood and looked around the room once more. She laughed aloud suddenly upon realising that it was simply magic for lighting the space. Magic that worked akin to shitty strands of Christmas lights. She rather liked this - it felt almost like the cozy, romantic lighting of candles along a hot bath.

It seemed like an awful many glyphs for one set just for lighting magic, though. She'd have to copy them down and ask Solas or Dorian about them later.

Messing with the glyphs also attracted more of the surrounding mana, much to her consternation, so that was the end of that endeavor for now. Bevin picked up her bag and decided to walk the other halls down here.

Once she walked all the way back through that forever-long hall leading to the bathing area, she came to a long room filled with wide columns. Each corner seemed to lead to another destination. To her left, she remembered from following Cole here, lead through what would probably become the kitchens and a storage area once cleaned up. She decided to walk straight to check out the two areas across from her.

To the right lead to a door that revealed stairs heading up. Turning around, she crossed the room to the final area. Taking the doorknob in hand, she gave it a good push, expecting it to be just as heavy and difficult as the others. The door held fast, locked.

Bevin let out a disappointed breath. She didn't have a key and had no idea where she'd find one for this door. She'd have to figure out a way to unlock it...unless. No. _That_ wouldn't work.

She bit her lip and looked back over her shoulder. No-one was around to witness a bit of wishful silliness. Stepping forward again, she held her palm open in front of the lock, whispering a familiar charm, " _Alohomora_."

Her heart stopped at the sound of a click and scraping of the bolt. "No fucking way…" she swore, louder than intended. "'Friendly to thieves,' indeed." She tentatively turned the knob, still unbelieving as it moved easily in her hand this time. The door opened out to a dark room. Books lined the heavily cobwebbed shelves nearest her, but she couldn't see further in. A wave of her hand sent orbs of light floating to the ceiling and drifting slowly down a short corridor revealed to be lined with shelves packed with books and various knick-knacks. Yet more books were stacked in heaps haphazardly along the floor.

Making a momentary face of disgust, Bevin whipped webs out of her way and entered the room. She wondered where the roots came from as she dodged them and spilled books. The few strategic sconces normally would have provided plenty of light here once lit. The corridor opened to a round office-like room, a large desk the centerpiece. Upon it lie open a very large tome surrounded by yet more piles of books.

Setting her bag down out of the way, she walked up to it and carefully shifted a page. It seemed sturdy enough. It was open to a page of diagrams for spells and must have been quite old for the language used in the writing.

A large, old carved oak chair lined with wine-colored cushioning was placed off to the side. Dusting it off some, Bevin sat down in it and took in the rest of the room carefully. The walls lead up quite a ways, all containing shelves. And a few too many human-esque skulls for her taste.

It wouldn't be hard to get this place shaped up. Mostly dusting and other cleaning. Then she could set to work cataloguing the books here. There were sure to be some hidden gems among them.

She looked down to one of the piles next to her. Taking up one of the books off the top, she examined it. Pages were filled with drawings and details on all sorts of plants of Thedas, seemingly organized by type. Many of which she had never heard of. This one could prove useful.

Setting it in her own beginning of a pile, she picked up another. As she went through others, most seemed to be of the histories of various places and peoples. She tried to organize them by type around her to make it easier to go through them again later.

By the gurgling and demands of her stomach, she reckoned it was nearing sundown. The sounds of chattering from beyond the room were coming to her now, along with the heady smells of kitchens being put to good use.

If she cleaned up here a little, there'd be room and privacy for a bedroll. She wasn't sure where she'd be taking up here, yet, but this would do for now. With that settled, she decided to leave her bag here while she procured some supper. Shutting the door once more, she gave the locking charm a try with an utterance of, "colloportus." More than pleased when she heard the deadbolt slide back into place along with a dose of magic, she chased behind a cook balancing a wide tray as she ascended through the stairs across the way.

The cook turned through an open door - the other way opening up to an office - and set the food down on a long table lined with chairs and stools. Honing in on the food platters scattered down the table, Bevin paid no heed to the rest of the main hall at this time. She grabbed a plate and fork and began filling it up with anything that looked appetizing - which was most stuff.

"See? What'd I tell ya?" She heard Varric laugh and caught him gesturing towards her from where he sat a few chairs down sipping at a mug. Nikki stood by him, eyebrow raised.

Bevin stilled her motions, looking between the two wide-eyed and bewildered. "What?" she managed ineloquently.

Nikki only giggled with a wide grin and replied, "Nevermind. We were just looking for you." She gestured to follow her. "You should bring that with, it sounded important!"

Scowling around a forkful of potato after just sitting down, Bevin got up with her plate and grabbed a carafe to fill with water. She followed Nikki through a door, another office space, and a corridor rocky with crumbling stone from a collapsed wall, coming to a halt outside a pair of massive doors. Nikki knocked on a normal sized door built into them. The door was pushed open by a very antsy Cassandra who bid them to enter.

She thanked Josie for pulling up a chair for her at the table, which already held scatterings of papers and ink. Nikki chose to remain standing, along with the others. Not one for overly tense and awkward atmospheres, Bevin chose to resume eating and wait for whomever to speak up.

It didn't take long for the Commander to clear his throat and lean forward over a chair across from them. "Since we have arrived here, word of the Inquisition has continued to spread. We expect many more people to begin arriving from nearby settlements. As word spreads of us to them, it will no doubt also reach the Elder One. We have the walls - and soon the numbers - to put up a fight here, but this threat is far greater than we anticipated."

Cassandra addressed them both, "Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. It is clear why Corypheus sees you both as threats. You are the creature's rivals because of what you've done, and we know it." She paused, looking around to the others. "The Inquisition requires a leader."

Leliana spoke up to further clarify, "In turn, it is a role that you have both taken in stride, which is why you are here before us. However, the role of Inquisitor can be filled by only one." She looked to Nikki, then to her. _Now_ Bevin saw where this was going.

"I respectfully decline." She'd head it off before they got started. There was no point in wasting anyone's time and worry over this: it was not something she wanted. "Nothing against it, but you don't want a psychic at your helm." Nor was she keen on that level of further responsibility.

"Oh! Well…" Josie uttered in shock. She looked to Nikki, "Herald?"

Nikki was - in her opinion, overly - quick and eager to reply, "I'll do it!"

Her brows knit as she swallowed another bite. "Maybe you should ask what the duties will be before you go jumping into agreeing to anything," Bevin suggested, knowing Nikki wasn't going to fully think that through. After all, there were four others in this room alone who were just as capable of taking up such a mantle.

Nikki nodded enthusiastically in agreement, "Yes! I can lead, but what exactly would I be doing?" Bevin really hoped she wasn't treating this like a summer camp "leadership" role.

"Your decisions would shape the Inquisition. How it would serve, how you lead: that must be yours to decide." Cassandra waited as patiently as Cassandra ever waited for anything as Nikki thought that over.

Leliana cut in, her tone nearly sounding as though she was trying to dissuade Nikki, "You would be in charge of the delegation of tasks to us, how the Inquisition proceeds from here on out, writing and reading various reports and decrees, select correspondence to others, and issuing judgements to those held as prisoners by the Inquisition."

"Oh, uh, wouldn't you be best for that?" Bevin looked up to see Nikki staring at her expectantly. Nikki turned back to the others without any reply from her. "Bevin's actually studied law and criminals and that stuff extensively - I think she'd make a great Judge! Justice...whatever the title is." Continuing to talk, unhearing of other comments, Nikki leaned down and began sketching on a piece of parchment. "Where we're from, systems of governing and leading usually have three main bodies that help balance everything out and make sure everything is fair with no one area being over-powered. The judicial, the legislative, and the executive branches."

Bevin's eyebrows flew up. The snark left her mouth before she could stop herself, "Look who paid attention in her civics class. Bravo!"

Nikki grinned at her, easily taking it solely as a compliment. "It was our set-up in my sorority."

Bevin had no appropriate response to that, but if it lead to her understanding the basics of democracy, who was she to complain?

"I had not realised that you had such a background, Bevin," Josie commented. And, well, she _did_ , but not how they seemed to be taking it. Five years of undergrad studies and a semester of mock trial did not equate to judiciary experience. But that was leagues more on any score than what Nikki had. If the other woman was going to be taking up the innumerable duties of Inquisitor, maybe it _was_ best that she lighten the load a little in this way.

"Yeah, I may not look like it, but law, enforcement, and criminology were the main areas of my university studies over several years." She knew they didn't have a very good equivalent to that here, the closest probably being private tutelage or apprenticeship that some nobles or the well off could afford, so it would sound more impressive than it really was. "It would be fine by me. I just don't want to disrupt anything if you all would rather run things more traditionally."

"Perhaps that would, as Nichole laid out, be a fair compromise, then? We can work with new ideas, and I believe this may be beneficial," Josie spoke to the room. She tested the new titles, "Inquisitor Nichole and...sitting Justice of the Inquisition, Bevin. Or 'the Inquisition's Justice of Order.'" She waved a hand. "That does not matter at this time. Thoughts?"

Leliana was the first to voice her support, appearing confidant, "I agree."

The other two seemed more reluctant. They were far more likely to not want to stray from what was tried and true.

After a time, the Commander scratched the back of his head, "I suppose we can make the necessary arrangements. It may be a rough start."

"Then we are all in agreement here," the last member joined in. "I have confidence that we can be successful in such...new ideas. It just may be, as Cullen has said, 'a rough start.'" Cassandra strode around the table. "Come, we must have you both 'sworn' in."

Thankfully, that wasn't anything fancy and was ninety-five percent for Nikki. They were taken to the top of the stairs, overlooking the courtyards where people were gathering. Nikki took up a ceremonial sword, and the title of Inquisitor along with it, and those surrounding them were asked if they'd follow - to which there was a resounding chorus of cheers.

Her own 'swearing in' was met with much less fanfare, thankfully. She'd managed to amass her own followers who were more quietly pleased with the state of affairs, while others weren't quite sure what to make of her yet, their indecision and confusion reflected in their silence. No shoes were thrown at her, anyway, so she took this as a positive.

As tomorrow was guaranteed to be hectic for them both, Josie was more than happy to show them their new quarters. Nikki was gifted with a spacious room atop the tower above the War Chamber, which was explored with wonder and awe by both of them.

Bevin was given the room below Nikki's, which was also quite grand and more than she would ever have expected. It was smaller, but still had more than enough room for her. The large glass-paned doors opened out to a large balcony, which she discovered was the top of the War Chamber itself.

Furnishings were currently quite sparse, but they were assured that the basics would be arriving soon.

Parting ways for the night, Bevin sat on the old mattress and furs that would serve as her new bed for now. She had retrieved her bag, carrying what little she had, from the office down below. It now sat upon a small desk along the far wall. Light from the sunset shone through her windows, bathing the room in golds and oranges.

She flopped back and grinned at the ceiling. This would be her home now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, Harry Potter is a fictional world here. Bevin's working out a theory regarding that and other magical dealings (that I am fleshing out on my blog). In reference to what she says about the unlocking spell, "alohomora," the given etymology behind the spell is that it literally means "friendly to thieves." "Colloportus" is the counterpart locking spell.


	20. Hit Me, Baby, One More Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this hasn't been fully edited nor formatted, yet! After so long, though, I really wanted to get it up, but I am working on getting it all spiffy. I won't bore anyone with details for the holdup, so enjoy! Next chapter we visit the Hinterlands and Fallow Mire, the latter of which will definitely bring some excitement back (never really thought I'd say that, but it involves a lot of fire and...stuff).
> 
> Woo, we hit the 100k mark! :D
> 
> Word count: ~7100k

* * *

She hadn’t wanted to visit the Fade that night - or really any night in the near future - for fear that it would be just as, if not more, intense as the waking world.  Curiosity got the best of her, though, so here she stood, wincing around the brightness, in a much...fresher looking Skyhold.

Walls were clean, floors were smooth.  Sconces filled with dancing fire lit the surrounding opulence.  Something felt off about the place, but she couldn’t put her finger on what.

So vivid was the magic of this place that he nearly slipped through her detection as he appeared.  She didn’t bother turning to him as she spoke, trying to take in the revived grandeur of the Main Hall, “This is trippy.”

The smile was heard in his voice, “Tarasyl’an Te’las.  Sculpted by old memories from the Fade, it stands strong even here.”  Something else tinged his words.  A kind of comfort?  Pride?  He’d been here within the Fade before, that much he had supplied, though she was becoming wary to his brand of double speak.  He hadn’t _said_ that he had never been here in person, but she suspected otherwise.

“‘Place’...’sky.’  I dunno the rest,” she replied with a shrug as she tried to parse through the elven with what little she had gleaned over the past months.

“‘The place where the sky was held back,’” he explained simply.

Well, ‘Skyhold’ made _tons_ of sense, then.  Bevin knew she’d heard or read that kind of phrasing before somewhere.  “‘Where the sky was…’”  It was slowly coming to her.  This phrase had been used in relation to, “The Veil!”  She turned to him then, careful to observe him.  “This is where the Veil was created.”  One of the archive books had referenced it in passing.  She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but she’d have to go find it later for a more thorough reading.

He nodded.  “Yes, so the stories say.”

She nearly called him out for that skirting answer, but the words fell from her as she grew distracted taking him in.  Something had changed.  With the oddly little contact they’d had over the past few days, it was hard to say exactly when this had happened.  He held himself taller.  Not to say that he wasn’t on the arrogant side of confidant before, but maybe it had been quieter?  What had brought this on?

His attire here was even different.  He hadn’t cared much to change it before from the couple of articles he physically kept, though he had been the one to bring up that it was possible in the first place.  Sleeker lines and better fitted, it was hardly worthy of the “unwashed hobo” moniker some of the other's liked to tease with.  And “woodsman,” he was not.

She always chose to manifest clothes that she had back in her world.  That little bit of remembrance.  Looking down herself, however, she noted that she was wearing new robes.  They were similar enough in style that she could easily guess that it was his doing.  She crooked an eyebrow at him, letting him know he’d been caught.  Secure enough in their current standing that he felt he could dress her...

Bevin wasn’t sure how she felt about this newly emboldened Solas.

Blue eyes took her in with such an intensity that she nearly took a step back in trepidation but was instead rooted to the spot.  So uncomfortable was she under such scrutiny, that she broke her gaze away from his and pretended to take in more of their surroundings.

Colors and seals and armaments decorated the walls, but she was unable to identify to whom they belonged.

Her thoughts turned back to the Veil.  She wished she could remember better the creation myths surrounding it.  It seemed everyone had their own origin story and there was no common point of beginning.  But according to Solas’ prior lectures and lengthy ramblings, it hadn’t always existed.  Little of what she had read about it had been actual research, more just momentary comments that may have been afterthoughts or footnotes.  What or who had created it?  Had it really started at Skyhold?  What was it really?  What was it like before the Veil?

She braced her hip on a nearby sill and looked out the window, viewing a courtyard bathed in blooming Summer.

“What has captured your thoughts?” Solas spoke from beside her, much closer than he had been moments ago.

Peering at him, she caught sight of one of her dragonflies perched upon his upraised fingertips.  Her hands clenched.  She hadn’t even realised that she had lapsed into weaving them again.  It had become a mindless occupation habit while in the Fade.

This one was swept in sapphire and gold. _Celithemis eponina._  A bit too blue to be true, but passing, nonetheless.

She wondered what he thought of them.  So many had been made, though she had lost track of their numbers over the months.  There was little chance that he hadn’t sought an answer, just choosing to keep the curiosity to himself.

Bevin pointed her chin towards the dragonfly.  “I’ve always admired them.  I had few enjoyments growing up, but these little creatures would entertain me in the fields the days I managed to get out of that house.  I was jealous that they could just fly away when they wanted.”

His face softened.  “Should you choose to share it, I would like to hear more of your past.”

“Maybe another time.  It’s pretty...dreary.”  She had shared details of her past freely so many times with others, but to do so with him made her feel bare and vulnerable.  Her own trials seemed so small and trivial in this land.  Her remaining fears...nonsensical.

He didn’t press.  Instead, Solas waved off the dragonfly and strode with purpose to the center of the hall.  “In that case, take up your staff.  We have lapsed in your training for far too long.”  As he spoke, his own staff appeared in his grasp.

She knew better than to complain but couldn’t help the rolling of her eyes as she summoned her staff.  Barely settled and already he was getting her back into the grind.

Gratefulness was due, though.  Her barriers and many spells had become second nature to her through their continued regiments.

Shield magic flowed over him.  “Do not hold back, _da’len._ ”

Bevin scowled; that phrasing was meant to rile her.  He knew damn well she hated being called _‘da’len.’_  It was a dumb thing to get upset about, but something that always served to easily rankle her.

A firm tap of the butt of her staff against the ground and lightning arched forth to strike him.  More power was set to it than she really intended to begin with, but she was met with the satisfying sound of his barrier sizzling away under the assault.  She’d give him a run for his money.

Fire was sent her way in retaliation, but if there was one thing she could say she had the hang of, it was barrier magic.  His attack hit her barrier and was sent straight back his way thanks to her reflection additive magic.

Before the fire could reach him, a blast of force magic hit her that was strong enough to shake her footing.  Lightning spell disrupted, he quickly stepped away and erected a new barrier.

Unwilling to let him get away so easily, she threw a barrage of energy blasts at him while covertly scattering trap glyphs to the far side of the hall.  She caught his smirk when he realised what she was doing, and she returned her own grin as a chair flew to hit him squarely in the side.

The look of alarm was enough to make her laugh, even as brief as it was.  “Gotta keep up, _hahren!_ ”

He parried her next blow with a summoning of ice bursting into spires from the ground.  She stumbled back to avoid having any part of herself frozen by his magic.  Rounding the ice, she found that he had disappeared.  Back on her guard, she hastily tried to locate him again.

Bevin noticed the rippling in the air beside her too late.  Her staff was torn from her grip and she was shoved against the stone of the nearest wall.  Air was squashed from her lungs, her arm twisted behind her back in a sure hold.

Harsh static travelled briskly through her body in an attempt to shake him off as she pushed back and struggled against him with an irritated growl.  He pushed harder, close enough that she could hear his labored breathing over the buzz of their magic clashing.  Magic-chilled fingers against her neck stilled her.

“ _Ir abelas,_ it appears I yet go too easy on you.”

And like that she was released and he disappeared once more.

The thrill in his voice had been hard to mistake.  A part of herself responded in kind.

She spent the rest of the night getting her ass handed to her as he whipped out unfamiliar magic for her to attempt to dodge and parry.  It was clear they’d reached a new level in their training.

* * *

Bevin groaned.  She had the worst headache of her _life._   Was it related to the magic of Skyhold or the intense training in the Fade?  She decided that she couldn’t actually bring herself to care.  Rolling over, she pulled the pillow over her head to block out the sounds of Skyhold and the bright light coming through her windows.  Just as she was managing to fall back asleep, there was knocking at her door.

“Miss Bevin?”  Sounded like Josie.

A grumble escaped her, disappointed that further sleep was flying out of reach.  “Yeeeah?” she called out, still mostly muffled by the furs and pillow.

“We request your presence for a meeting downstairs, if you please,” she called back.  “I have breakfast for you!” she sang in bribery.

Well, that was as good a reason as any to get up.  Still groggy and head pounding, she sat up and swung her feet to the floor with a yawn.  She stood, dragging a blanket along with her to cover herself with since she hadn’t wanted to sleep in grimy clothes, and opened her door.  Josie bustled in with more cheer than was right at this hour of the morning and set a tray down on her desk.

“We’ll be going over the upcoming itinerary this morning.”  She looked to what seemed to be a list that she had brought.  “I have sent a request for a seamstress to see to new clothing for you and the Inquisitor.  You should also put in any requests for your room and elsewhere with our new Quartermaster as he will be procuring such things.  ‘Ser Morrison’ is his name.”

“Don’t think I’ve met him, yet.”  A concerning thought struck her.  She hadn’t seen Threnn, their previous Quartermaster in some time.  “Has something happened with Threnn?”

Josephine was quick to placate her fears.  “No, no!  She is fine!  She merely believes that her skills will be better suited to helping the Inquisition elsewhere.”

“That’s a relief.  With all that’s happened…” she lead off.  Bevin shook her head.  “I’ll eat and meet y’all downstairs shortly.  Thank-you, Josie.”

“You are most welcome!” the woman bid.  Then she bustled out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Bevin looked around her room.  She had little idea where to start for decking it out.  The necessities were kind of a given, sure, but she didn’t know what kind of budget they were working with or what would be considered too much.  She didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.  A halfway decent bed and some blankets, a chair for the small desk, drapes for the windows.  There wasn’t much that she thought she needed.

She threw on her clothing and tucked into the food left.  Breakfast looked a bit better than the fare that she had come to expect while they were travelling.  Sugar and sweet spices had been added to her hot tea, a wonderful treat that she had missed.  The stew was made with fresh ram, and that made all the difference in quality.

There was another knock at her door.  Extending her senses, it only took a moment to figure out who it was.  Curious, though slightly miffed given their recent interactions - or lack thereof - she bid her enter.

The Nightingale stepped through the door.  She closed it behind her and leaned back against it.  “We must speak.”

Bevin watched her for a long moment, trying not to let her feelings show on her face.  “You’ve been avoiding me,” she stated, then shoved another spoonful into her mouth to prevent herself from saying something snarky.

“I-  There has not been much time lately for us to have this discussion,” the woman deflected.

“And what discussion would that be?”  Bevin played dumb.  She wanted to hear her put this to exact words.

Leliana sighed, likely hazarding a guess as to her thought process.  “You are not ignorant and we must cease treating you as such.  There is much that we do not share with you or the Inquisitor.  And though this is changing with your new duties, I believe that you in particular are...quite capable.”

Bevin listened attentively, wondering if there was more to this than she thought.

Stepping closer, Leliana braced her hip on the desk, thinking further on her next words.  She finally shook her head, her shoulders squaring.  “Solas is not who he says he is.  I have had my agents attempt to verify his background, but we have been unable to confirm the validity of anything.  There is no clan nor alienage that claims him or has any knowledge of whom he may be.  I cannot properly assess how much of a threat he may be to us.  To _you_.”

“I know,” she said simply.

The other woman’s brows knit as her eyes narrowed on her.  “You know?”

She needed to choose her words to the Spymaster carefully.  The reasoning for Leliana’s suspicions undoubtedly had to do with something she had already given thought to, so there was little need not to assuage the woman’s fears that she may not know what she was getting herself into.  She had to give some to get some, after all.  “Not that his background story doesn’t tread water - though I suspected that - but he’s ultimately the odd one out in our little beginning cadre of people.  No-one knew him before he came to Haven to study the Breach.  In itself, not _that_ odd, but I knew you’d try to track down his background as a safety precaution.”

Leliana nodded.  “Yes, we’ve done the same for every new addition to the inner circle.  Given the circumstances, we need to be certain of those within our ranks.”

“I think he’s here for a reason that he isn’t sharing.”  She watched Leliana carefully for any tells that she might have information that she didn’t know.  “No idea what it could be.  Could be as slight as preferring the assistance the Inquisition can be towards his research.   He prefers being solitary and he’s talked of leaving before, though that was quite a while ago now and I think the potential resources here kinda sway him to stick around.  And Cassandra’s finally stopped threatening to jail him.”

Leliana chuckled.  “Yes, I can see how that might give cause for one to feel unwelcome and choose to abscond.”

She scraped up the last of the stew and finished it.  “He has secrets, but I don’t think he’s a bad person.  If he were going to hurt me, he’s had ample opportunity.”  Or he was biding his time for something.

“Then I say this: be wary.  You of all here know him best, and I shall trust your judgment.  Should you ever feel troubled or threatened, please do not hesitate to come to me.”  Leliana hesitated, then added, “You remind me of someone.  I do not wish to see you hurt in any way.”  Though she said the words, Bevin didn’t think that Leliana would stop her surveillance of him.

They lapsed into a more companionable silence.  Smirking, Bevin asked, “Highridge gotten over himself yet?”

By the tightening of her jaw, Bevin could tell that there had been some sort of discussion.  “I have spoken with Scout Highridge.  He is worried about your safety and believes that you are not doing enough to protect yourself.”

“That whole thing was messed up.”

“His...strategy was his own.  I assure you, while I did task him with discovering more about Solas, I did not make the suggestion that he attempt to seduce it out of you.”  Leliana moved toward the door, signaling an end to their talk.  “Did Solas really yell at him?” she asked over her shoulder, a hint of a smile on her lips.

Bevin shrugged.  “Told him off, probably.  But yell at him?  I highly doubt that.”  She was still miffed about it.  They’d ultimately been using each other for their own ends, but he rather actively tried to paint Solas in a bad light.  She wondered if Highridge was the type to hold a grudge.

Leliana bid that she would see her soon at their meeting and left her to finish her morning routine.

* * *

Unamused, Bevin looked up from the single leaf of paper that dangled from her fingers.  She sighed.  “You realise that I can’t actually apply these charges to Alexius…”  This was not going to be an easy conversation, but she needed to hold her ground now or else they’d walk all over her new station as Justice.  If she was going to do this, they were going to keep high standards and expectations.

Gereon Alexius was first on their list for judgment, so she, Nikki, and the advisors were all convening in the War Chamber to go over how it would be handled.  The charges so far were made up of things that had really only occurred in the Red Future.

“What do you mean?  Sure you can.”  Nikki was confused, but Bevin could see the wheels beginning to turn in the heads of the others.

Bevin shook her head.  “No, I can’t.  He hasn’t actually done any of this.”

Nikki looked aghast.  “How can you say that?  I was _there!_  I saw him do everything!”

“Yeah, you _stopped_ him from doing all of this,” Bevin attempted to explain as she jabbed a finger at the papers in front of her.  “You can accuse him of having blue skin for all the good that would do, but I’m the one who judges whether or not those charges apply according to the evidence that you have brought me to consider.”  She needed to get them to actually think this through on their own.  She didn’t want to set the precedent of them coming to her for potential charges for each case.  “Look, he _has_ done some heinous things that I can put him away for, and those are the things you need to bring before me in order to seek a judgment.”

Bevin ended her rant with a not-so-subtle threat to kick them into gear, “If you try to bring charges against him solely for mass murder, I’m going to dismiss the case.  And then he’d walk.  None of us want that, so it’s up to you all to do _your_ work, which will allow _me_ to do mine.”  It’d be a cold day in hell if they _actually_ let Alexius walk at her say-so, but she hoped it got the point across.

Nikki was still clearly frustrated, but she conceded the argument for now with a grumbled, “fine.”

“We will revisit this after some further...contemplation.”  Josephine stepped forward to move them along.  “I believe we have reports to discuss?”

A good number of these were - thankfully - more in Nikki’s court now, so she let them go over that stuff uninterrupted, merely listening for anything of interest.

When the conversation turned to missing soldiers and the suggestion that they venture forth to further investigate, Bevin spoke up again.  “Solas mentioned wanting to take a pass through the Hinterlands again to find a specific elven artifact related to the Veil that his research dug up.  We’d be able to do that on the way to or from the Fallow Mire.”  She pulled a face.  “Not that I particularly want to go to the Fallow Mire of all places.”

Nikki pondered a moment.  “Okay, so you, me, Solas...who else should we ask to go along?”

Running through their options, Bevin laughed at the first that popped into her head.  “Well, Dorian will kill us himself if we tell him we’re going to the Hinterlands and he finds out that it’s merely a pass through to the Mire.  Like hell would he willingly go there.  Sera would be much the same way.  Maybe Bull and Blackwall?  I can see if Cole would like to go.”

“How about Cassandra?” Nikki suggested.

Bevin shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’m literally just listing the people that I think would do the least amount of complaining.”

“Also...who’s Cole?” Nikki asked with a frown.

Bevin quirked an eyebrow.  “The spirit kid?”

Nikki only looked further confused.  “I don’t think I’ve met him…”

“Yes, you have.”  Bevin rolled her eyes.  It was awhile ago now, but the kid made quite the entrance.  Nikki would know him when she saw him.  She addressed the others, “Considering the circumstances, I take it we would be leaving soon?”

“On the morrow,” Leliana clarified.  “There have been many reports of rift activity in the area, so proceed with caution.  Scouts have been sent on ahead to further assess the situation in preparation of your arrival.”

“I will talk with someone about getting new robes and armor now, then.”  Her current stuff was more than a little worse for wear.

“Ah!  Ahead of you.  Speak with Harritt, please, Bevin, Inquisitor.  He will have new gear ready for you shortly.”  And there was Josie, thinking of everything.

“Awesome, thank-you!” she exclaimed.  “We’ll go round up some others and get things squared away here before leaving.  Anything else left to address?”

Leliana shook her head.  Josie looked around to Cullen muttering, “I don’t believe so.”

Upon breaking from the meeting, Bevin made her way across the Main Hall to the rotunda that Solas seemed to have adopted for himself.  It looked like someone had recently done some sweeping and upkeep here, though it was quite bare yet.

“Hey!” she greeted as she pulled a chair out to sit at the table at the center of the room.  “Good news and bad news.”

He set down the crystal he had been holding and humored her.  “What news do you have, Bevin?”

“I pitched your request, and we’re going to the Hinterlands!” she said with a grin.

His interest was piqued, brows raising in surprise.  “Oh!  I...had not expected an answer so soon.  When do we depart?”

“Tomorrow morning.”  Far sooner than he would have asked for, and the surprise showed.  She explained, “Bit of an expedited trip, though, because it’s on our way to the Fallow Mire to locate missing soldiers and deal with rift activity.”

Even _he_ visibly deflated at that admission.  “I suppose- it is fine, that will work.  That task must also be handled.  You have my thanks for your assistance.”  He looked about the table.  “I shall make preparations to leave, then.  Who will be accompanying us?”

“Uh, so far, it’s us and Nikki.  We’re still asking around, though I was thinking Bull, Blackwall, and Cole.”  She still wasn’t sure what to make of The Iron Bull, but she felt it was better in the mean time to keep him away from the main goings-on of the Inquisition if he really was sending information back to whatever boss he had.  Cassandra would be a good choice, as well, though the woman wasn’t keen about Cole.

He voiced his approval, “I see few problems with that group.  Let me know with whom you do make arrangements, and I will plan accordingly.”

With a nod, Bevin stood.  “So where are you staying now?” she inquired.  She wouldn’t put it past him to just set up in this room, though.

“There are rooms across the way.”  She thought she knew of where he spoke since there were some visible from the balcony of her room, though she hadn’t been able to do much exploring of the Keep, yet.  “I heard you’ve acquired one befitting your new station.”

“In the other tower, yeah.”  She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.  “Bigger than I’d like or need, really.  Pretty drafty.  I still need to get glyphwork done.”  With how big it was, there’d be a ton of work, too, to get it up to her standards.

“I have some work I must finish this afternoon, but I can assist you with that this evening, should you like?” Solas offered.

“Yeah, I’d love the help!”  She cleared her throat, embarrassed to seem too over-eager.   “I need to go find the new Quartermaster - a ‘Ser Morrison’ - to drop off my list of requests and things.  Then off to speak with the others.  And Harritt.  I’ll see you later, then?”  She shot him a thumbs-up.

“Until then,” he said, returning to his work.

Stepping out into the Main Hall, she realised that she had no idea where to find anyone or where anything else was.  With how busy it was and unaccustomed to the life signatures of many others still, it felt like she was constantly being rocked by the myriad of unknown energies.  Wandering around some would probably do her good, so she headed outside to the courtyards.  Picking a direction, she started walking, taking in the day’s worth of progress they’d made in making the Keep home.

 _“You’re giddy,”_ came a voice that always seemed to be followed by headaches anymore.

 _“No, I’m not,”_ Bevin retorted with a scoff.

The woman chuckled darkly.   _“I hear all of your thoughts, dear.  Even those that you don’t acknowledge.”_

Bevin knew that and found it disconcerting every time it was brought up.   _“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”_  She tried to keep walking like everything was normal and _not_ looking like she was having an argument with herself.

_“Yes, you do.”_

She hated this.  Not even her own thoughts were safe.  Always something to bring her mood down.   _“Then you know_ why _that’s a horrible idea.  A girl can dream, though.”_

The spirit hummed her disapproval.   _“I do not agree with your reasoning.  Why deny yourself happiness over something that may or may not come to be?”_

She leaned against a wall, pretending to watch the goings-on.   _“Why start anything like that if there’s a chance I might just be torn away any day?  I couldn’t do that to someone I care about.”_  Bevin knew it would break her to lose someone again.  It was why she had few friends and why she felt foolish growing close to those here.   _“I’m too close as is.”_

 _“That is life, dear.  We live day to day taking pleasure where we can.  Even when you think you have it all, that you’ll live forever, it can be ripped from you so, so easily.  But it is a risk worth taking.”_ The spirit interrupted her reply, _“Or you can merely spend further inordinate amounts of time staring at his hands…”_

Said anatomy immediately came to life in her mind.  

She ignored the smug ‘I told you so’ vibe from the spirit.  Trying to keep the heat from her cheeks, she shook the unbidden imagery from her mind.

 _“Why would he anyway?  I’m no elf.  Just some clueless, human kid he has to babysit.”_  She didn’t like that this spirit was trying to turn her fleeting daydreams into some twisted reality.  He had been _safe_ before.  Something that would never happen.

The spirit sighed.   _“I have mentioned this before, dear: he would not go to such lengths for someone for whom he cares nothing.  You may not be of the People, yet you are not human as he knows it.”_

 _“The fuck does that mean?  You’re awfully presumptive for someone who doesn’t know him.”_  

 _“I never said that I did not know him.”_  With that, the spirit retreated a ways.  Not fully, as usual, but so that she sat right on the edge of her mind.

Bevin paused in her steps as those last words hit her.  Who was this spirit that she knew Solas?  Had they met in the Fade at some point?  The spirit was too old to have known him in life...right?

Cole was the first one she happened upon.  He crouched over a wounded soldier looking completely forlorn.  The boy held a hand to him and she watched as energy flowed through him.  It took her a moment to realise what was happening, but there was no mistaking the scattering rush of life energy out of the man.  His breathing stopped, and Cole stood.

Bevin raced forward and jerked the spirit around by his arm.  “Cole!  What did you do?”

He shrank away, looking confused and hurt.  “But you know what I did…”

“Okay, _why_ did you do it?” she hissed, exasperated.

“His injuries were grave.  He would not survive.”  Cole looked mournfully back towards the dead soldier.  “He was suffering - so much pain - so I helped.”

Her grip on his arm loosened.  She understood him.  “Cole, sweety…  I know you mean well, but many here already think you’re a demon.  Please don’t do anything to help their claims.”

Her own spirit made her presence known.   _“Oh, spirit of Compassion.  He just wants to help, Bevin, dear.”_

His face brightened.  “Yes!  I want to help.”

Bevin looked at him in alarm.  “You can hear…?”  Great, Cole wasn’t the best with discretion.

He went on as though he was speaking to the spirit, his face contorting in confusion again.  “I don’t understand.  Wouldn’t it help more if she knew?”

The spirit spoke with a new edge to her voice, _“Boy, that is not something with which to concern yourself.”_

“No, Cole, I _strongly_ disagree,” she soothed.  “What is she hiding?  ‘Knew’ what?” she urged him on.

Cole’s eyes widened as he visibly withered at the conflicting requests.  Uncomfortable with the confrontation, Cole vanished with another blink.

 _“He just wants to help,”_ she huffed back mockingly at her spirit.

Further along, Bull’s energy stood out large and bright even in this mess of life and mana.  Bevin shook her head and continued on with her task of finding companions for the trip.  Cole would follow along if he so desired.  As a spirit, he wouldn’t require much.

 

* * *

 

It was by chance that he had happened upon her in the archives.  He had come this way to make a preemptive request at the kitchens to have food sent up to her chambers.  He hadn’t any idea where she had chosen to otherwise sequester herself away all day.  It suited her, he thought, as he entered.

Books were stacked all around the room, and he watched as she continued yet to pull more from a shelf.  There was some rhyme or reason to her work as she briskly flipped through each, came to a conclusion, and placed every book into a different pile in the room.

“The organisation was not to your satisfaction?” he remarked as he walked further into the archive.

“As far as I could tell, there _was_ no organisation,” Bevin quipped back.  “But either way, I’m cataloguing everything.”  The next row of books, inches past her reach, was bespelled into her awaiting arms.  “There’s some neat stuff in here.”  She pointed with her foot towards a stack next to him by the archway.  “Namely, _that_ pile.”

 _That_ pile was a group of maybe a dozen or more of all sizes and make.  Curious of what she had picked out, he bent to pick up the nearest from the top.  A spell tome.  It was small enough that he was able to skim most of it quickly.  It held nothing of much concern, most spells and glyphs being only just beyond her current ability.

He perused the room with a critical eye.  These shelves were so crude.  Much had been built over the natural stone behind.  Would there be anything left behind them?  Had the other room been wholly sealed off?  Depending on when that had occurred, there may be something of interest left here.

His mind came back to the task at hand.  “Dinner will be served shortly.”

Bevin looked at him with surprise.  “It’s that late already?”  She made what he had come to recognize was a reflexive move to check her phone before she evidently realised that it was not on her.  “Right, upstairs.  Duh,” she mumbled to herself.  “Lemme finish with these real fast and we can go grab something.”

He nodded and waited patiently as she sorted the few books in her arms.  She snatched a pair sitting on the edge of the desk, then bounded for the door.  As he followed after he her, the moment he passed over the threshold, the door was locking behind him with the distracted wave of her hand.

Jerking to a halt, his mind quickly ran through the lengthy collection of spells at his disposal, coming up blank for any that resembled the deceptively simple charm she had utilized.

“Solas!” Bevin called back from the stairs, “are you com-” Her words broke off as she came back around the bend.  “What’s wrong?”

“Where did you learn such a spell?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She looked momentarily sheepish, then a self-satisfied grin overtook her face, making her look so ever like a smug cat as she stepped towards him.  “From a book.”

“Found here?”  He had thoroughly gone through any book that he had supplied for her study and knew for a fact that such a spell did not exist within them.

“No, I don’t think you’d know it.”  A bold claim, though ultimately correct.  “-being only on the second book.  But you may recognize its counter-charm.”  She winked.  Her arm reached out towards the door.   _“Alohomora.”_  The door audibly unlocked.

The supposed unlocking charm.  He vaguely remembered details from the tales of the wizarding school.  There hadn’t been the time for much luxury reading.  It stumped him as to why a _fictional_ spell would work here, but it gave yet more credence to Bevin’s pet theory.  She looked excited, proud of her own revelation.

And with that came the revelation that he was losing control over her progress.  What else did she know?  Was it chance or were there more?  She was at a point where she no longer required his guidance as a mentor.

“How curious.”  She would not see how it rattled him.  “I requested that dinner be sent to your room, it should be there shortly,” he remarked, brushing off the topic and redirecting her attention.  With a smile, she marched up the stairs once more.  And behind him, the lock slid back into place.

It seemed like such a minor thing now, but he knew that her prowess would only continue to grow in bounds.  She was passing from her status as a novice Mage.  How would he - or anyone else - fare against one who held another world’s worth of knowledge?  She was able to catch him off guard increasingly more frequently in their lessons and spares.

It was more imperative than ever that he remain close.

* * *

Bevin took up the more advanced series of alarm and protection glyphs with ease as he instructed her in their use as they applied them to the perimeters of her room.  As he was no longer sharing quarters with her, he was quite critical of their application, frequently stepping beside her to correct positioning and strokes as she drew them.

He used his proximity as an excuse for the occasional hand at the small of her back or arm, purposefully lingering closer than as would be seen as appropriate.

Going by the occasional furtive glance when she thought he wouldn’t notice, he would say that it was enough that it had caught her attention, though she did not say anything or otherwise alter her own actions.

Working in tandem, they had finished warding her room just as the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the mountains.  With a satisfied grin, Bevin activated the pre-existing lighting glyphs she had worked to restore around the room.  As she worked, she had explained how she had first come across them below in the cavern that housed the hot springs.

The springs had once been one of his favorite features of Skyhold.  Many fond memories were brought forth as he explained for her the various parts of the string of glyphs.  He then warned her against activating glyphs without knowing what they were for or would do.

She pursed her lips in a pout but gave no argument.  “I was kinda stuck down there most of yesterday.  I know better, but I was bored.  There’s just...so much energy here that I always feel this kind of pressure.  It’s less there.  For whatever reason.”

The admission was somewhat worrisome, though not wholly unexpected given that she was clearly over-sensitive to mana.  She did appear to be adjusting to it, however.  He was not sure how to further help her…

Bevin worked to further personalize the ambiance of the room.  It became quite clear that she preferred a near sweltering temperature, and he placed a temporary ice glyph by himself to keep from sweating.

He had quickly come to miss sharing their nights reading and working by the fire.  Bevin had hauled a blanket from her bed to lie on while she lazily skimmed through a book with drooping eyelids.  She was just on the verge of falling asleep.  When her eyes did not open again, he placed aside his own book and reached between them were her phone lay playing soft music.

Sitting back, his thumb swiped through the lock pattern.  Though he was quite familiar with a couple of the applications within it, there was a veritable trove of information elsewhere.  He had seen Bevin fondly scroll through pictures and communications.

He desired to learn more about her inner workings.  While he got glimpses, far more than anyone else, she continued to keep much of herself reserved.

Everything must have been fairly intuitive to her, but these little pictures gave him little insight as to what each application ‘button’ did.  She kept the most used ones on what she called the ‘home screen,’ so he started there.

Frustratingly, quite a number did not seem to work, showing him warning messages stating that usage required ‘network connectivity.’  Others only further confused him.  One showed nothing but numbers.

Another had rows of numbers and what he recognized as mathematical signs and figures.  Testing with a few key presses confirmed his thoughts.  He could see how that would be quite a valuable tool.

The next he recognized as the application that showed the time.  Bevin often used it to alert her to specific times of the day.  She had taken to learning to judge time by the skies, though seemed to have regressed in recent days as he had caught her falling back to her reliance on the device.

The last on the screen finally proved to be of use to him.  Names were highlighted above message exchanges.  Friends, colleagues, and others looked to be amongst them from a cursory glance through each of the last messages sent.

From what Bevin had described, these messages would be sent instantaneously to each recipient, negating the need for any kind of physical letter or courier.  To think of the cultural changes that would take place with such expedition…  If he didn’t know better, he would call it magic.

He read of her schooling worries, organizing outings, the discussion of a party.  Most was banter between friends.  The occasional picture - most were of food, though perhaps this was more telling than it seemed at first glance.  Bevin often bemoaned the lack of choice in meals here.  As she had spoken, in her world, many people had access to a wide selection of imported foods that here would be considered quite the luxury.

Some bits - mostly from those to whom she wrote - were nearly incomprehensible through the abbreviations and unfamiliar colloquialisms.  He would not be able to ask her about them without revealing that he read them, however.

The next conversation he opened left off quite salaciously.  Scrolling back up, revealed a conversation full of innuendo and flirtations.  With another woman.

He paused, glancing at her sleeping form and momentarily wondering if his efforts would be for naught after all. Did she prefer the company of women?  He reminded himself that she had actively pursued that scout for a brief time.

His eyes went back to the screen, continuing to read.  It was pleasant to see her write with such unrestrained candor within these messages.  He could see how she held herself back in daily interactions now.  They were alike in this way, putting forth more palatable versions of themselves.

Coming to another picture, he involuntarily took in a breath.  This one was meant to be erotic.  It did not show her face, but he easily recognized the lounging figure as Bevin from the strands of auburn hair that curled over her arm and the embedded jewelry at her collar.  The picture caught her leaning back over the edge of a bed, one arm slung just below her breasts in a manner that only further emphasized them.

A glint of more metal at her naval.  There were large scars up her left side, silvered with age…  He saw the beginning of another picture above this one.

Shaking his head, he turned the phone off and placed it back near her.  Guilt took hold of him.  These were not meant for his eyes or consideration.  These devices would be as unique as their owners, echoing their thoughts and actions - extensions of self.  Bevin would have an expectation of privacy regarding it.

He eyed her prepared pack near the door, her new armor and robes folded nearby.  He had yet to prepare and it was growing late.

With a sigh, he stood and moved Bevin back to her bed.  Either very deeply asleep or more trusting than he thought of his presence, she never woke.  Extinguishing the lights, he made his leave, wondering if he would be able to sleep at all tonight through the thoughts that bombarded his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> “Da’len” - “child”/”little one”, also a term for “student” ; Elven  
> “Ir abelas” - an apology, “I'm (very) sorry.” ; Elven  
> “Hahren” - a kind of elven honorific or title for “elder.” In this case, it’s akin to “mentor” or “teacher.”


	21. Thnks fr th Mmrs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I personally love the Hinterlands. Out of everywhere they could be (swamp, desert, tundra, demon and red lyrium-filled frozen taiga), they should all be savoring time somewhere temperate. Swamp, next chapter then. I broke everything up again. :X
> 
> Words: ~4,300

 

* * *

 _“How much you think he saw?”_  Bevin glanced icily at the elf who rode a couple yards in front of her.

The spirit sighed. _“Would it not be best to assume that he saw everything available?”_

She could feel her face heating again at the thought, keenly aware of what was in the conversation that her phone had powered back on to.  The other dozen-odd apps trying to run background processes and bitching about lack of network connectivity leant to the idea that he was being snoopy - giving him the benefit of the doubt, ‘explorative’ at the least - and maybe hadn’t known exactly what he would find.  But still.

Jenn was an old fling and before she found herself here, they still occasionally sexted.  Thankfully, it didn’t look like he had found any of the _other_ messaging apps.

She considered introducing him to the trove of dating app screenshots she had.  Maybe the inundation of terrible pickup lines and dick pics would teach him better.  Bevin rolled her eyes - he’d treat it like some study of human mating habits.

She put an application lock on the image gallery.  And the other messaging apps.

Bevin wasn’t sure if she wanted to call him on it or ignore it and pretend everything was still completely normal.

 _“I do not see why you are so upset,”_ the spirit hummed.  _“Why does it matter if you are not interested in pursuing him?  And since you are, now he knows what a lovely body you have.”_

 _“That doesn’t even deserve an answer,”_ Bevin grumbled inwardly.

 _“Answer me this, then, child.  Should_ he _make his interest known would you reciprocate?”_  To emphasize her point, the spirit drew forth recent memories.  She warned, _“You may want to give it serious consideration.”_

She hated to admit it, but the spirit was right.  Solas’ recent behavior was...different.  While subtle, she doubted it hadn’t been purposeful.  It couldn’t be missed that he was initiating closer contact on his own - at least while they were alone.

_“Again: terrible idea.”_

_“I am sure that the same things that concern you have already occurred to him,”_ the spirit pointed out.

That was true.  With the Breach sealed, everyone - not just Solas - was treating them as permanent residents.  There seemed to be an unspoken trust that they would not be forcefully whisked away anytime soon.  Maybe that was what triggered the change in him, too.

“You’re awfully contemplative this morning,” came a voice from beside her.  Looking over, she noticed Cremisius watching her.  No, he asked to be called _Krem_.

“How do you know I’m not like this every morning?” Bevin asked.  It was hard to see the lieutenant the same way that she saw the Iron Bull.  He came across almost jovial and light-humored, though very devoted to his leader.  Granted, she was trying hard not to let prejudice color her judgment.  The Iron Bull being the _Iron Bull_ intimidated her enough that she feared she was being unfair.  So far, the qunari had shown that he had a keenly sharp mind behind the brute force of his body and ax - a deadly combination.  He cracked jokes as easily as he cracked skulls.

Krem shrugged. “Fair.”  He glanced back to her.  “So the Herald tells us you’re both from the same place.”

Bevin made a sound of disagreement.  “We’re from the same country, but different states.  And they’re fairly different.”

“Ah, that explains the accents.”  Krem pondered more questions to ask.  “How does-”

But Bevin felt _it_ then - that sudden nausea as her vision began to swim.  Why couldn’t it choose more convenient times?  She gripped the saddle tightly, feeling herself slump forward.  Krem distantly called her name.

Within the new scene, shadowy figures dance in front of her eyes, slowly becoming clearer.  A man is standing before her, watching something beyond her shoulder.  His lips move, speaking, but it is still hazy.  Eyes narrowing, he turns his attention to her and looks expectant.

Her own mouth moves, but she can’t make out the words.  They are wispy and foreign on her tongue.  Bevin felt confused and detached - far more so than she typically did in a vision.  Her gloved hand reaches out to settle on his arm in a soothing manner.

The man is elven, but unlike any she had seen.  He stands regal, eyes severe, and blond hair woven beneath a fine crown of glinting gold.  Decorated robes hang from his shoulders.

Her head turns to look back at what he had been watching.  People are dancing across a wide floor to music on the air.  To either side are placed tables filled with food and drink.  The hall is quite majestic and open.  

They are approached by another elven man - though by the looks of things, everyone here is elven.  He is dressed similarly to the other man, though what stands out are his bright blue eyes and blinding smile.  Arms wide, he seems to be greeting them jovially.  She speaks again, without a doubt now, it is elven - but she didn’t know elven well enough to pass more than a few words.  The man laughs heartily at whatever she had said and makes a summoning gesture.

A young girl, doe-eyed beneath the stark vallas’lin upon her face, rushes to his side with a platter of chalices, and he bids them partake.  Though his face is already aglow with drink, he takes a deep swing of another before turning away and flitting his way through groups of people.

Was this in some distant future?

Several minutes seem to pass as she speaks further to the man and occasionally watches the dancers.  There is a raucous at one of the tables where a man is seated cross-legged on a cushion at the end.  The man from before is near him, gesturing down the table to where others are laughing and tittering.  Even from here, she can tell that the man seated is dressed very differently with far more bronzed skin showing.  His face is partially obscured by his cup as he drinks, though long dark hair is loose down his back in many braids.

She feels herself laugh along at the scene and begins stepping closer.  With a glance over her shoulder, she sees the first man roll his eyes and wave her on with a shake of his head.  The vision melts away as she walks.

“That’s gotta be annoying,” she heard Krem say as she came back to the waking world.  “I’d have so many trust issues,” he chuckled.  His hand steadied her as she sat back up.

“Don’t remind me.”  She shook her head of the last vestiges of fog in her mind.

“What did you see?” Krem asked.

“Dunno.  This one was...foggy.  It was hard to make anything out.”  A partial truth.  She wasn’t about to say that she’d watched a bunch of noble elves at a party.

“Your face didn’t get as glowy this time,” Nikki spoke up from further ahead.

“Perhaps there is a correlation,” Solas suggested from her other side.

Bevin can only shrug.  “I’ll have to reflect on it.”  With that, they largely left her alone to her thoughts until it was time to make camp that evening.

“That wasn’t a vision,” Cole stated, very sure of his words.  He was suddenly beside her as she helped search for wood and kindling for the fire.

“Then what was it?”  She didn’t think it was a vision as she normally had, but the other options only confused her.

“Dancing and drinking, yet another celebration of status.  Her own does not wish to be here, but only because he is not the one hosting.  He disapproves of the entertainment.  Pride draws her eye.  He tells jokes at the expense of the nobles, equally not desiring to be here, though required to for appearances.”

What started in Cole’s poetic winding of speech, turned into a near clinical observation of...whatever she had seen.

“A memory,” he finally clarified.

“A memory?” she parroted.  Then it clicked.  This was a memory from the _elven_ spirit, who was being oddly silent.  Though she seemed to slink away regarding anything that actually pertained to her.

“It wasn’t supposed to start this soon.”  Cole worried empathetically.

Bevin had no idea what he was talking about.  “What wasn’t?”

Cole became solemn, his voice nearly a whisper, “Your souls are starting to settle together.”

_“Compassion- leave us, please, dear.”_

“You need to tell her,” he demanded, frustration creeping into his tone.  Cole stared at her face a moment longer, seemingly seeing past her, then disappeared back to camp.

The spirit took her time before explaining.   _“Yes, that is a memory of mine.  From quite some time ago.  June was taking a turn hosting a party of extravagance.”_  She laughed knowingly, following the odd tangent of thoughts that arose from Bevin.   _“Yes, that June.”_

The other god-Mages were supposedly banished, locked away in the black city of madness.  All save for two.  The one who betrayed his people, and the one slain by his hand.

 _“Fen’Harel did not kill me,”_ the spirit was quick to correct.   _“He took revenge on the others for their part and complacency in my death.  There is much you and my own People do not know about what really happened.  And much that was forgotten with time.”_  She sounded mournful.  _“The Wolf is a dear friend of mine.”_

That left, _“Mythal.”_

 _“I have intended to tell you, though not so soon.  You were not ready for what it will overturn on your path.”_  The spirit, Mythal, regretted this.  Had she not seen the memory, this would have continued to have been kept from her.

Bevin’s mind was swarming with thoughts, each battling to be voiced. _“Why?”  “Why me?”  “What did Cole mean about our souls?”  “Why am I seeing your memories?”_  She slid down a tree to sit among its roots, no longer trusting her feet to keep her standing with her head reeling.

 _“Your soul is bright - much stronger than mine is or will be.  And this is good!  Ultimately, yours will take over.  You have so much potential to do great things here…”_  ‘Potential’ - the spirit always spoke of her ‘potential.’ _“I did not wish for knowledge of me to become a further danger to you.”_  And Bevin knew that Mythal was right in this.  Even with as little as she knew now, it had almost gotten her into deep water before.  She had to separate what she knew and what she actually knew only through her.  This was the reason Mythal was always so reluctant to show her new magic.  They didn’t need someone grilling her on how she knew something when there wasn’t another viable source.

Voices from the others nearby broke her from her thoughts.  Bevin scrambled back up the tree and dusted her robes and leggings of dirt.

 _“But you_ are _worthy of me,”_ Mythal soothed.   _“I will assist where I can as you traverse the road before you.  I shall leave you to your thoughts for now.  We will have time to speak further later.”_

Her mind quieted.  Bevin found herself asking for the last watch shift so that she’d have time to be alone with her thoughts and not have to face Solas in the Fade right away.  He would quickly catch on that something was bothering her.

* * *

Little had changed in the Hinterlands since she was last here.  Things were maybe a bit warmer and drier as the year had progressed from the apparent Winter she had first arrived here during.

They stopped by the Cross Roads to replenish supplies.  A few new merchants had set up shop, feeling at ease once more with the increased presence of Inquisition soldiers ensuring the safety of the area.  An unfamiliar face selling a selection of robes and cloaks drew her gaze.

Her clothing was mostly new now, fitted to her person far better than before.  In lieu of full length robes, she now wore a tunic and leather enforced leggings, both in much more subdued colors - slate and cobalt - than the pale blue Mage’s robes she had worn.  The cloak about her shoulders was a leftover, however, grabbed out of need for the journey.  While she could make it suit her needs, it wasn’t ideal.

Bevin thumbed a thick cloak, fur-lined and dark.  The material would likely even keep rain repelled for a time - a great thing to have for the ever-storming Fallow Mire they were travelling to next.  It seemed a little big but sizing it down some wouldn’t take her much time.  After selling a number of unneeded materials and trinkets they had found and gathered over the months, she had a decent store of money now.

Bartering was very new to her, and she had no idea how she’d fare.  Hesitantly, she made eye contact with the merchant.  “How much for this one?”

He looked her over, then canted his head as he took hold of the cloak and held it up.  “This one’s five-hundred gold.”  His eyes met hers as she was immediately put off by the price.  She didn’t have anywhere near that much to even talk him down to.  “I have another one - quite similar.  Pro’ly fit ya better, too.  Hold on.”  He bent over and flipped the latch up on a chest.  He took a moment to sort through his wares, then came up with another cloak in hand.

“Lightly used.  Made it for ma daughter, but she decided she wanted a brighter colored one after one of those flashy Mages came through here.”  The man rolled his eyes with a chuckle.  “You can have it for a hundred an’ fifty.  Can try it on, if ya like.”

Bevin removed her current cloak, setting it aside, and reached for the one he held out.  This one was slightly lighter in color than the last, though still a dark grey on the outside.  Same outer material.  There was slight ruching and decorative stitching near the collar - a personal touch.  The fur lining was just as plush - rabbit maybe - trimmed with what was probably wolf or dyed fennec.  It was a good length, coming to hit at her calves.  There were pockets within the lining that would be of use.

Doing the math, she determined that the purchase wouldn’t leave her completely broke with another eighty or so left over.  “I think you have a deal, sir.”  They finished the trade, and she scooped up her old cloak to drop off at the Inquisition supply caravan for someone else to use or pass out if needed.

She met with part of the group waiting on the other to finish up.

Nikki made a face.  “Aren’t swamps kinda hot?”

“Not all.  Temperature doesn’t really matter to me much, though.  Staying dry is a little more effort,” Bevin explained.  She could alter the temperature around herself very easily with a few strategically placed glyphs, but keeping the rain off meant keeping a barrier constantly active.  “I grew up in the middle of the Louisiana marshes, and those are more what you’re imagining.  But swamplands can occur in colder areas, too.  Depends more on drainage levels.”

The Herald frowned.  “I thought you said you were from Michigan?”

Bevin nodded.  “I moved there during high school.  It was where I lived when…” she shrugged, letting her implied words hang.

“You called Texas crazy!” Nikki exclaimed.  “Texas ain’t got nothing on _Louisiana_ , Bevin!”  She threw her arms up.  “Gah, this explains _so_ much!”

“What?  Explains _what?_ ” Bevin asked, exasperated.

Nikki only shook her head with a grin and turned to wave over the last of the stragglers.  She ran a gloved hand through short locks that were looking in need of a wash.

Bevin still found herself ever envious of Nikki’s shorter and shorter haircuts.  She didn’t want anything near _that_ but really wanted to hack hers off at her shoulders or so.  One of these days she was just gonna do it and let everyone complain their asses off.  While she normally preferred it long, it just wasn’t practical while travelling about like this.  She had to keep it up or plaited in some manner to keep it clean and free of tangles as long as possible between opportunities to wash up.  All for some maidenly image.  She didn’t entirely disagree with them, though...

Gathered again, they followed Solas’ lead to the east.

After a bit of wandering and rehashing what they were looking for, again, they came upon an elf Mage entangled in battle with rift demons.  The group was quick to join in and made short work of the rift.

The elf, Dalish by her appearance, eyed them all warily.  “By your weapons, I see you come ready for battle.  Perhaps we face a common enemy in these demons.”

Bevin discreetly looked about for any others.  Was she really out here alone?  

Nikki’s skeptical words echoed her thoughts, “Are you taking on demons by yourself?”

The elf scoffed and shook her head.  “Fighting the demons is pointless.  There will always be more, and I have no means of closing the rifts.  But I have heard of Elven artifacts that measure the Veil.  They may tell us where new rifts will appear.”  So she was here looking for the same thing Solas was.  “I was not expecting so many demons, however, and I believe one of the artifacts is nearby.”

“I think we’re looking for the same thing,” Nikki stated.  “You should come with us!  Would make it a lot easier.”

She looked taken aback, but nodded.  “Thank-you.  I do not think I could do this alone.”

“Great!  Well,  I’m Nikki,” she introduced herself.

“I am Mihris.”  Bevin squinted.  She knew a Mihris.  Maybe it was a common Elven name.  She wondered how he was doing.

“What brought you here?” Bevin asked, foregoing an introduction herself.  Something felt...off about this Mage.

Mihris took her in, eyes settling longer than would be coincidence on the amulet corded around her waist - though Solas did say that clan leaders and their Firsts could potentially recognize it.  The woman gave her a strained smile.  “I was -am- First of Clan Virnehn.  I left in service of my clan and saw that great tear in the Veil on my journey.  I know more of magic and the Veil than any shemlen, so I hoped to help.”

 _“Ma harel, da’len.”_  To say that Solas’ response was cold and rather out of character would have been an understatement.  No-one else seemed to catch it, though, perhaps unused to the language’s tones and canter.

“I- We should keep moving.”  Mihris was quick to disengage and bid them on.

 _“He just said she was lying or being deceptive, right?”_  She hoped to confirm with Mythal.

 _“You are correct.  Not to miss that he is speaking down to her with the entitling.  There is some one-sided familiarity there.”_  Mythal was right.  This was far from the banter that he’d tease her with.

Something about the woman made him leery.  What was she lying about?  Why she was here?  Who was she, really?

They continued along the slight path to what looked to be the remains of some kind of temple or building carved into the cliffside.  Solas readily stepped forward to clear rubble and fallen pillars from blocking the entrance.

Bevin gripped her staff, sensing the demons within before seeing them.  As soon as they were visible, she barriered the entrance to allow those with ranged weapons to pick them off with ease.

The hall beyond was mostly bare stone, broken up occasionally by overgrowth.  At the end was a...bizarre looking headless statue.  Bevin glanced curiously at a grouping of candles, one lit with a green flame.

“What kind of fire’s _that?_ ” she heard Blackwall ask from behind her.

Solas offered an explanation of the phenomenon.  “I have heard of this but never seen it before.  It is called veilfire - a form of sympathetic magic.  A memory of flame that burns in this world where the Veil is thin.”

She blinked.   _“Bull_ shit _.  That’s the magic he used to light my room at first when we were doing those glyphs.  Like, a_ week _ago.  And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him use it other times, too.”_  Bevin was careful to keep her face neutral to the others.  Why was this something he’d lie about?

With a wave of his hand, he lit a nearby torch with veilfire, setting the room aglow in green.  He met her eye as he reached to take up the torch.

 _‘Ma harel, hahren,’_ she mouthed with a quirk of a smile, raising an eyebrow in question.  The barely perceivable stutter in his step as he continued through the archway to a set of stairs was enough to satisfy her for now.

Bevin could safely say that she had never expected to see piles of skulls casually lying around outside of video games.  Grimacing, she followed the others into an open cavern long surrendered to disrepair.  The stone tiles were severely broken and uneven beneath her feet.  This place had clearly been raided in the past, likely more than once.

The few low-level demons that appeared as they made their way in were brushed aside, barely an obstacle for them anymore.

Solas lit more of the torches around the room with veilfire, aiding in their search in the dim light.  He and Mihris clued on the sought artifact at the same time.  After taking his time to analyse and activate the odd, spherical device, he deemed the Veil strengthened here and made safe for future travellers.

They soon parted ways with the elven Mage as she bid them go with Mythal’s blessing before making haste to leave them behind.  Bevin got the distinct impression that said god was shaking her head in amusement.

They spent a bit of time going over the rest of the room for anything of value.  An old rune was found by light of the veilfire, but there was little else to be found.

With the artifact found, they could make haste now to the Fallow Mire.

 

* * *

 

When Bevin opted to take the last watch shift from their normal first for the third day in a row, he found himself accosted in turns by other members of the group.

The Herald had been first, stating her worry over her friend, who had seemed distant and upset by something in the recent days.  “She’s avoiding you - what did you do?”  Eyes were narrowed on him as she scrutinized his face from much closer than he was entirely comfortable with.

He claimed that he was not aware of anything that he had done to cause her unease.  But had she been put off by his stating to be unfamiliar with veilfire?  He had not been thinking when he had stated that, worried only over how it may seem to be familiar with something that he personally had not seen occurring naturally in Thedas since awaking.  In select locations, it was effortless to summon.

However, he was less surprised that she had honed in on this deception, and more in awe that she had thrown his own words back at him.  He had restrained his laughter in the moment.  In all his dreams, he had never thought that a human would be his undoing in so many ways...and he enjoyed it.

“I’ll talk to her.  But if I find out that you did something to hurt her…” the threat was left on the air, the Herald showing an oddly protective stance.

The Warden he had not expected to approach him, let alone over Bevin.  “She gets clingy at night, which I am sure that you’re aware of, being as how you typically share a tent with her.”  Ah, he saw what Blackwall was doing.  With the change in shifts, Bevin wound up sharing a tent with whomever else became her watch partner.  Jealousy was a clever tactic to invoke.

The Iron Bull made it clear that there was an undercurrent to their concerns that was less than pure.  “Look, I have gold riding on you two.”

“Oh, for…”  Solas openly glared at the man sitting close.  He had not thought that his affairs were so...openly regarded.  They were taking the first watch together.  This was going to be a long night.

“Now, you did something that she’s been giving you nasty looks over since we hitched up from Skyhold,” he gestured towards her tent, “but I don’t think that’s actually related to...this.”  Since they left Skyhold?  She had seemed quite at ease the night prior to their leave.  Did she somehow _know_ that he had taken liberties with her phone device?  Considering that he was not familiar with all or even most of its capabilities, this was not out of the question.

The Iron Bull leaned into him.  “So you make nice, or _I_ make nice.”

He fought back the growl in his voice.  “I hardly think Bevin would have any interest in you.”  He did not wish to speak for her or make assumptions, but the very thought of the qunari being so _familiar_ with her made him bristle.

“I think she’ll come around,” the Iron Bull chuckled.  “And I have a thing for redheads.  Either way, it’s a win-win for me.”  The other man grinned, then stood and walked off to speak with his Chargers.

Solas sighed.  He resolved to speak with her on the morrow, after he had time to consider his approach.  If only there was a way to get her alone more inconspicuously.  Everyone was far too keen on his actions.  He did not need their gazes passing judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're out with the (very) open secret of Mythal!
> 
> I’m also doing...something with Game Solas and Concept Art-ish Solas/Fen’Harel. For spoilers, feel free to check out my [blog](https://mrfancyfoot.tumblr.com/) where I’ll go more into detail more later. Or ask in the comments, since I don't think many go there expecting there not to be spoilers. And, if you do...surprise! >.>
> 
> Translations:
> 
> “Ma harel, da’len.” - elven, “You lie, child.”  
> “Ma harel, hahren.” - elven, “You lie, elder.”


	22. Arsonist's Lullabye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you ever tame your demons,  
> But always keep them on a leash"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was 95% done, and then it got reeeally dark again and I ended up rewriting parts. But it felt appropriate. Because I need to torture my characters more. And again, I actually ended up splitting this chapter. It got to a little over 11k, but certain scenes seemed like they'd work better in the next chapter.
> 
> Other chapter titles that bounced around my head (...that are also musically inspired):  
> "Set Fire to the Rain," "Into the Flames"  
> "Ring of Fire"  
> "Just like Fire"
> 
> Fun fact, ["Arsonist's Lullabye" by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoQvbDROucQ) was actually the first song I added when I made a Spotify playlist for SAR as I wrote. In turns, it's felt fitting for both Bevin and Solas.
> 
> As always, feel free to check out [my tumblr](https://mrfancyfoot.tumblr.com/) for updates and more SAR/Dragon Age stuff.
> 
> Word count: ~9.3k

* * *

The storm raged on overhead.  The occasional flash of lightning served to illuminate the parts of the keep visible to her from where she sat, wrists bound and tied to a broken throne.  The Avvar grunts kept leering at her.  Their leader - the Hand of Korth, or some shit - was down a ways, waving a large hammer above his head and jeering about how he’d take down the Herald of Andraste with ease.

He apparently thought that the Inquisition wasn’t acting with enough haste to his forced summons, opting to kidnap her as well.  She had been taken so swiftly that, frankly, it was embarrassing.

The Herald of Andraste was a would-be conquest, but they saw the Seer as some lowly fake, even after killing half the Avvar sent after her.  A wanna be Mage.  She could barely hold back a sneer of disgust.  Always being overlooked and underestimated.  There were too many of them to take on by herself in her current state, however.

Beside her whined a pup barely weaned from its mother, rope far too tight around its neck tethering it to a broken pole.  Her heart ached for its cries.

Rain dripping into her eyes while she waited for her strength to return, Bevin reflected on how, exactly, she came to be in this predicament.

 

* * *

 

“Soo…?”

Bevin looked questioningly at the woman saddling up to her with an odd grin on her face.  “So?”  It was odd for Nikki to wake up early when she didn’t need to.  It wouldn’t take long for Nikki to get to whatever she wanted to talk about.

Nikki grabbed some of the reheated meat Bevin had thrown by the fire for breakfast.  “What did he do?”  Vague, but Nikki would make the assumption that she knew what she was talking about anyway.

Bevin sighed, turning back to the flames.  “Who did...what?”

Nikki’s eyes narrowed on her.  “Oh, spill!” she demanded.  “Solas!  You’ve been acting funky around him since we left Skyhold.  What gives?” she finished with a pointed jab to her arm.

Bevin hushed the woman, sparing a glance towards the tent where said elf still slept.  She waved her off.  “It’s nothing.”

The other woman wasn’t buying it.  “Uh, _no._  I know you well enough to now it’s not ‘nothing.’  Gimme the deets.”

She pouted.  Nikki was tenacious enough that Bevin knew she wasn’t going to leave this.  “You know how he sometimes uses my phone?”  Nikki nodded enthusiastically, her attention zeroed in on her words.  “Well…,” Bevin cleared her throat and lowered her voice further, “I should have known better than to just give him free rein without at least telling him not to go certain... _places_.”

Nikki gave her a sly look, barely containing her laughter.  “He found nudes didn’t he?”

“Shhh!” she hissed through her teeth.

The Herald giggled, evidently not thinking this was anything to actually be much upset about.  Bevin agreed with her, but she didn’t want any of them digging deeper to what actually still bothered her.  “I think that’s hardly his fault unless you specifically told him where not to go.  There’s a reason we have parental locks for stuff, Bev.”

“I know that.”  She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, wanting Nikki to drop the subject but not wanting to look too hasty about it or the woman would just latch on harder.

“Speaking of which, Solas said he wanted you to look something over for him.”  Nikki jerked her head towards his tent.

Bevin ‘hm-ed,’ unsure of what he would want to go over.  He and Nikki must have spoken last night after she went to sleep.

“He should be up by now,” Nikki remarked as she stood.  “When you’re done, can you help me take stock of our supplies?”  She wandered off towards the mounts.  Everyone else was in various stages of waking and prepping to get back on the road.

Not wanting to linger much longer, Bevin made her way to Solas’ tent and called out to make sure he was up and decent.  He bid her to enter.

Solas looked to just be coming from sleep, still sitting upon his bedroll.  Surprise was on his face as he yawned, obviously not exactly expecting her.

“Nikki said you needed help with some...thing?”  As the words formed in her mouth, her mind jolted.  Bevin rolled her eyes as she realised what Nikki had done.  “You weren’t actually expecting me.  I hope she doesn’t think she’s super clever,” she remarked dryly with a grumble, rubbing the back of her neck.  “But while I’m here, we should talk.”

Solas shook his head, as though to send off the last vestiges of sleep from his mind.  “Yes, we should.  Bevin-” he stopped abruptly as she plopped down on the ground in front of him and summoned a barrier to keep out any eavesdroppers.  Dare she say he _almost_ looked worried?  Good.

He was quick to try to calm the waters between them with contrite words.  “I was remiss with the liberties I took with your personal effects.  I am truly sorry.”  She didn’t doubt his sincerity but noted how he still chose overly broad language.  Like he was avoiding being _too_ specific for fear that he had done more than one thing she could possibly be upset about.  She would keep it in mind but ultimately had something specific they needed to discuss.

Bevin nodded her approval, then shook her head.  “I accept your apology, but that’s not what I’m here about.”  She couldn’t really give a shit about the content of what he saw and had quickly gotten over the invasion of privacy.  In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter.  “This didn’t start with the veilfire.”

All at once, his face became a careful mask of neutrality, of guardedness as he regarded her raptly.  He’d already narrowed down the subject matter.  Solas waited for her to continue, mirroring her posture by crossing his arms.

She huffed, not wanting to deal with him getting defensive and avoidant but knowing she’d have to in order to get any answers.  “You’re _involving_ me in something but keeping me in the dark,” she bit out.  Her face scrunched in distaste as she became more incensed the more she finally spoke her mind.  “The sneaking around.  Asking me to cover for you.  Lying about weird things.  Leliana’s fuckin’ _twitchy_ trying to figure you out.”  She ignored the feeling of his magic enveloping them in a barrier of his own.  Either he didn’t trust hers or it was a power play he suddenly felt the need to make - but she wouldn’t be cowed.  “I’ve got people digging into _my_ life, and now _I’m_ lying and shrugging, and I _don’t even know why._ ”

He softened minutely, his shoulders losing some of their rigidness, but his tone was one of determination, “I will not place you within further danger.”  So this was for her own good?  That was something she was getting awfully sick of hearing lately.

“In danger from what?” she demanded, her cheeks heating with indignation.  “That’s my _life_ now, Solas.  On the days I’m lucky, I sometimes even see it coming.  Not knowing’s suddenly going to make me safer?”  Hair fell into her face from shaking her head.  Brushing it harshly from her face and grabbing a handful, she started distractedly plaiting it, needing something for her hands to do.

He was silent in thought for several long moments, eyes following the path of her fingers, before speaking.  “There...is more going on than you realise.  Corypheus is not the only enemy we face, though potentially a common thread.  The Inquisition is too narrowly focused at present to be able to meet its desired goals.  I will tell you in time.”

“I’ll figure it out.”  It was less a threat and more a declaration.

She pouted when he let out a breath of displeasure.  “I have no doubt that you eventually will.  However, be mindful of that which you seek.”

“You’re missing my point.”  She stared at him wanting to violently shake the elf.  She settled for frustratingly trying to pull a knot free in her hair.  “Look - they’re not dumb.  I know I’m not, but I’m not egotistical enough to believe that I’m so many leagues better than anyone else here.  My point _is_ , if I can catch this stuff, _so can they._  I don’t know what kinda grey hat stuff you’re doing, but I’d wager not all would agree with it, yeah?”

He cracked a smile.  “You...are advising me to be more careful.”  Solas drew his hand across his face in weariness.

Her brows knit.  “Duh.”  It was not lost on her that they’d had a nearly identical conversation only a few weeks ago, though she was the one being roasted.

“Perhaps I have been too rash in my actions,” he admitted passively, already sounding distracted by something else on his mind.

Feeling like he was brushing her off, she opened her mouth to tell him off again but was stopped by his next words.

“Turn around,” he instructed softly.

Thinking he was going to undress to change or something, Bevin did as told, shifting her weight around awkwardly until she sat facing away from him.

A hand pulled her fingers away from where she still held the strands of her braid as he settled behind her.  Apprehensively, she braced her hands on her lap.  He combed his hands through her hair to undo her slop job, and she could feel him separating strands to begin the plait anew.

Everytime he gathered a new strand, the pads of his fingers and nails gently scraped across her scalp, mindful of the rings and studs that decorated her ears.  Bevin stared at the opening of the tent wide-eyed.  This was far more intimate than she was prepared for but there was no way she’d be able to tell him to stop for how good it felt.  While he worked quickly, time seemed to slow to a crawl in those moments.

Gathering the completed braid at the nape of her neck, he asked for the pins she had and used them to secure the knot.

With a shake of her head, she tested the hold and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.  Bevin reached up and slid a hand over the sleek braid.  “For someone who doesn’t have hair, you’re oddly good at this.”

He chuckled but made no quip nor comment.

Feeling an odd air between them, she made for a hasty retreat.  “I’ll...leave you to get ready then.”  Leaving the tent, she pointedly ignored the sets of eyes watching her curiously.

 

* * *

 

The dampness in the air hit them first, and though a chill lingered as they drew closer, it was the humidity that was most uncomfortable.

When the rain finally hit them, she and Solas could keep most of it off of the group, but there was little to be done about the wetness making their cloaks and armor stick and slide.

The sky rumbled unhappily above them.  Bevin was afraid it would spook their mounts, but they continued on steadfastly - credit was due to their horsemaster.  She looked up, watching flashes bounce between the clouds.  A shiver ran down her spine.  A giddiness overtaking her, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the electrified energy buzzing along her skin.

Upon spying them, a scout had ridden out to escort them towards where their main camp had been established on the outskirts of the small village, Fisher’s End.

They dismounted for a brief rest and to go over everything with the scouts who had been gathering intel.

“Lace!” Bevin greeted with a wave as she walked up to the Dwarven woman.

“Good to see you again,” the head scout replied in return with a grin.  “Well, maybe not under these circumstances.”  She ushered the group into a tent where a map had been lain out.  “Most of the villagers who had lived here are now gone - for one reason or another.  Without a closer look, it’s hard to tell if it’s completely demon related.  However, our focus has been on retrieving our soldiers.”

Lace pointed to what looked to be drawn as a keep a ways to the south of the village.  “They were taken by Avvar who are now camped here.  We received a letter a couple days ago demanding a duel with the Herald.  Ostensibly for slights against their gods, but that bit’s a _little_ hard to make out through the smudges and sloppy handwriting.”  She produced a missive that looked like it had been soaked through, though it was mostly dry now.

Bevin took it to look over.  “Oh, you’re joking.”  Most of the letter, for even as little as was still legible, ranted on about false prophets.  “His name is ‘Hand of Korth?’”  She laughed at the name of their challenger, self identified several times through the letter.

“Wasn’t difficult to find him.”  Lace shrugged mockingly.  “Though there are several of his clansmen with him.  Due to the nature of the situation, we thought it best to wait on your directive.”

“So he wants to fight Nikki…and just thinks I’m a know-nothing fake who’s not worth the effort.  Great.”  It sort of made sense with how Nikki’s Mark was always evident.  It was easy to call a Seer fake.

“Well, we should get this over with, then,” Nikki said.  “Not that I’m keen on some kind of one-on-one, but we can figure that out later when we see them.”

“Here, I’ve marked a path on this.”  Lace handed them a smaller, cruder map.  “Stay out of the water.  It disturbs the undead.”

Nikki’s eyes went wide.  “Undead?  You mean...like zombies?”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the undead?” Lace teased.

“It’ll be fine, Nikki.  We’ve fought zombies before.”  Bevin tried to assuage the fears she knew were building in the woman’s mind.  “I was bitten.  They aren’t like the movie ones.”

“But those were wolves!  What if it just doesn’t, I don’t know, cross species?” she tried to justify as she gesticulated nervously.

“Uh…”  Bevin didn’t have a good response to that.

“What is she referring to?” Blackwall asked her quietly.

“In our world, zombies - the undead - are often depicted as passing on the disease or curse that made them that way by making contact with an open wound or membrane.”  Bevin explained.  “But they’re _fictitious_ ,” she emphasized.

Nikki grabbed hold of her shoulders and stared her down.  “Bevin!  If I get bitten - _promise me!_ \- you’ll kill me.”

Bevin humored her dramatic request, “If you start turning, I’ll kill you, yes.  Double tap, even.”  If it came to that point, there’d be few options anyway.  But zombies here seemed to be reanimated by demonic presence or weakness in the Veil and subsequent spirit activity, not by disease and whatnot, so there shouldn’t be much to worry about.

“And I’ll do you, too!”  Bevin sighed at the declaration and watched Nikki pick up her pack and exit the tent.

After eating and regrouping, they made their way to the village on foot.  Nikki, being perhaps overly cautious, strode with her sword at the ready to beat back any encroaching undead that they had yet to see.

Feeling more energized than ever with the storm overhead, Bevin moved more freely with confidence.  The first home they came to, however, had her feeling more troubled.

The door was unlocked so she stole a peek inside.  As Lace had said, the house looked to have been abandoned in a hurry.  There was something off about it, though, that put her on edge.  A note found detailed that many had left and that they, too, were leaving.  However, a line stated the suggestion of locking certain people in their homes to prevent them from leaving.  That wasn’t normal behavior.

Bevin voiced her concerns to the others and warned them to keep a lookout.

“See?”  Nikki exclaimed.  “What if they had turned to zombies and they were just trying to keep them locked away?”

She wasn’t going to call Nikki right just yet, so ignored her for now.

They continued down the path, quickly coming upon more homes.  Bevin’s brow furrowed as she took in one that had been recently burned.  Near the other were remains of a fire but she couldn’t yet make out the remains.

She walked closer to the piles of ash to better examine them.  Seconds later, she bolted back as everything clicked.  “Don’t touch anything!” she yelled to the others.  Walking back, the others waiting for an explanation from the outburst, she lit fire across her hands in an attempt to try cleansing them before touching anything else.  Hauling her bag over her shoulder, she dug through it for a bottle of wound cleanser that was primarily alcohol.

As she rubbed some over her hands and anything she had touched, she started explaining to the others.  “These are plague behaviors.  Locking away the infected.  Burning bodies and possessions, homes.  It’s likely highly contagious and deadly.”  She passed the bottle to Solas, who had also been inside the last home.  “Anyone who’s touched anything needs to cleanse with this.  Don’t drink the water.  Keep your hands away from your faces and any wounds.  Try not to touch anything that’s not needed.  Acquired wounds need to be seen to promptly and properly dressed.”

“We should send word back to the camp to warn them,” Solas advised.

Bull pointed to one of the Chargers.  “You heard everything she said?  Go pass it along to the camp.”  The man gave a nod and turned to run back along the path to deliver the message.

Seeing the looks of worry and apprehension going around, Bevin tried to make them feel a bit better.  “We’re all healthy and haven’t been living in this mess for months, so if we make this quick, we should be able to minimize any contamination and risk of bringing it back.  Once we find the soldiers, however, they should be quarantined for a time.”

Bevin slipped on a pair of leather gloves, intending to burn them later.

Some of the paths were so narrow that they filed one by one lest they risk drawing the undead.  A flooded area, however, gave them no choice but to cross a shallow stretch of water if they were to press on.  While they made it across as swiftly as possible, it was not without landing them under the onslaught of half a dozen reanimated skeletons.

As Bevin started picking one off, an arrow just barely grazed her from several yards away.  She looked up and couldn’t help but stare at the skeleton nocking another arrow.  “That’s...rather impressive,” she noted to herself.  And scarey.  The kind of control that took should not belong to something dead.

Thankfully, they seemed incredibly weak, often collapsing under a single blow or two.  As her first target went down, she was already turning to bring down electricity on the archer.

Static built in the air as her magic made contact.  A bright flash blinded her, and she reflexively drew back.  In the wake of the zombie was a small patch of bared ground, smoking from the impact of the lightning strike.  “Woah.”

Solas appeared at her side, glancing between the sky and the ground.  “Seems as though the storm above may be attracted to your magic, Bevin.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to watch that,” she agreed, unsure of exactly what that meant.  She guessed it somewhat made sense.  It felt like she wasn’t using up any mana at all out here as she cast her spells.  If anything, she felt stronger.

 _“The storm will not touch you,_ da’len, _”_ came Mythal’s voice.   _“You are too strongly aligned with its nature.  Similarly, within its presence, your powers will be at their strongest.”_

Tucking that information away, Bevin looked to where some of the others had continued on towards.  A kind of plateau rose up from the land, a pillar of stone at its center.

She walked up the wooden stairs  to the planked platform.  Upon closer inspection, there were carvings in the stone.  A brazier was empty on one side and there was an odd plaque on the opposite.

“What do you suppose this is?” she asked no-one in particular.

Iron Bull answered, “We’re on the high ground.  A sort of lookout post?”

“Perhaps we could use it to help illuminate our path back.  If I am not mistaken, there is another in the distance there.”  Solas pointed with his hand to where another such stone pillar could be just made out through the rain.  He stepped towards the brazier and filled it with veilfire with a wave.

The green flames lit up creating a beacon from the pillar.  Within moments, they heard a disturbance within the surrounding waters.  More undead rose from the depths to target them.  A screech filled the air - one that had become grossly familiar by now - and a Terror demon was upon them, seeming to materialize from no-where.

“At least we have the high ground,” Bevin grumbled, encasing herself and Blackwall within a barrier while casting an unenthused look towards her mentor.

Blackwall made a strike at the demon, prompting it to lash out at the barrier.

“Hands in!”  Bevin warned.  The warrior took half a step back and watched as she sent electricity through her barrier to shock the demon.  Feeling energy build in the air, she kept it up until the skies set loose a bolt of lightning that struck her barrier and leapt to arc with her magic to the demon.

The terror demon staggered but jumped away with another screech.

Seeing the staggering trajectory of a new group of skeletal warriors climbing up the hill to the plateau, Bevin set about laying down exploding trap glyphs.  She heard them going off behind her a minute later as she sent fire at the demon again.

Solas must have gotten a similar idea.  Bevin saw swirls of ice glyphs growing on the ground behind the demon.  Meeting his eyes, she let out a blow of energy to force the demon back.  It wasn’t as strong as she would have liked, but it did the job of getting it to step into the trap enough for ice to grasp its leg.

With the magic holding it, it lashed out even angrier.  Before it could disappear, ice rapidly encased it until it was surrounded by a thick layer.  When it could no longer move, the Iron Bull rushed forward.  With a swing of his mighty axe, the ice and demon within shattered in a piercing crash and a roar from the qunari nearly as loud.

With the defeat of the demon, there were few skeletons left to deal with.  Upon striking down the last, they each looked about to make sure none were missed or  dragging themselves from the mire below.  Veilfire flickering virescent light around them, they each slowly stood down.

Bevin’s shoulders drooped, as she thought ahead.  “Well, guess we can expect that to happen again at the next.”  And that one was right in their path.  If there were demons in the area, they’d be drawn to the beacon, so it was best to take care of them.

On their way over, the wind picked up and the storm became all the harsher.  Bevin took the task of keeping the worst of it off the group.  A feat that she found she could do without much thought or effort.  It did not go unnoticed.

Solas hung back to match pace with her.  “Your control has improved immensely, Bevin.”

She gestured to the storm above.  “It’s this area.”

He looked to the sky, eyes following the angry tumble of the clouds.  “You needn’t be so modest.  Were it not for your level of skill, one would not notice the effects of the storm to such an extent.”  It was...odd of him to be so forthcoming with compliments.  “You have done well,” he praised.

“Thanks,” she returned.  Oh, Mythal was right.  She’d have to actually think this over…  Her earlier outburst would have only given him cause to further pursue.

Bevin pulled a face as her boots sank and squelched into the mud.  One step was deep enough that she struggled momentarily to pry her foot back up.  She could keep the rain off them, but she couldn’t prevent the grossness of the wet ground.  Her boots were covered in filth.

She glanced to Solas’ feet and found herself stopping unexpectedly.  While not completely dry, his own wrappings were devoid of any dirt or mud.  In fact, he didn’t sink into the mud at all.  There were no footprints left in his wake.

“You’re teaching me that!” she called.  When he looked back, she pointed at his feet and the ground behind him.

He looked to where she pointed, momentarily wondering what she was asking.  Understanding, he waited for her to catch up again and reached for her hand.  Allowing him the gesture, he turned her palm up and wrote out the glyphs needed with a finger while explaining the spells.  “It is not so dissimilar to your barrier’s reflective qualities.  This spell is to repel, to force away.  You will notice the base spell is the same used for repulsion magic to knock enemies off their guard.  Obviously not as strongly - this one is much more nuanced.”

“So more like an anti-sticking spell.”  Bevin was reminded of those hydrophobic chemicals used to repel fluids from shoes and such.

“Precisely.  It may not be of much help presently, I am afraid.”  He nodded to her grimey boots with a smile playing about his lips.

Having an idea of what would meet them this time, the group prepared themselves before lighting the second beacon.  Unlike the first, they were set upon by a group of demons - made up of terror and fear.  Glowing wraiths surrounded them, as well, while more undead rose from the murky waters.

Though the fight was fast paced, the going was slow as they cut through the enemies.  A time after the last was taken down, they stood restless with adrenalin and eyes wide looking about for more.

They took stock of injuries sustained, the worst being a gnarly slash sustained by one of the Chargers.

“We should find a place to make camp,” Nikki decreed.  She nodded towards the man cradling his arm and side.  “That needs to be seen to.”

Bevin briefly looked at the wound.  “I agree.  Keep the arm up, hold this tight.  It will help slow the bleeding,” she said to him while moving to look out around them from a railing.  There was an area that looked to lead to slightly higher ground to the east of them.

The Iron Bull beat her to the punch, directing the others’ attention to the rockier area.

Bevin took out the map that Lace had given them.  This area was along her path, though a little ways to the southwest from there was marked for a rift.  They’d have to be careful not to disrupt it before they were ready to deal with it.  She tried to see if she could view it at all from here, but the rain was coming down too hard to have much of a scope of sight in that area through all the rocky outcrops.

Within the next thirty minutes, they were beginning to set up camp among the stones of a small grotto that granted some overhead relief from the rain.

The Charger’s healer, Stitches, sat the other man down - Bevin thought his name was Grim, but wasn’t entirely sure.  He was given a healing potion to choke down, but it looked like the wound was well on its way already towards infection, and they didn’t have the kinds of supplies he would need once it set in - there was no ‘if’ for this kind of injury out here.  Bevin conjured water to flush the wound, but it was going to need suturing.  Elfroot and poultices wouldn’t helped such a deep wound without closure.

The healer busied himself sterilizing a needle in the fire for the work that needed to be done.  Several minutes later, the wound was closed and dressed.

“He needs to get back to the main camp,” Bevin shared.  “We won’t be able to keep treatment up on this for very long in this kind of environment.”  The healer shrugged with a halfhearted nod that conveyed his reluctant agreement.

Iron Bull let out a snort of dissatisfaction but accepted her observations.  “We’re surrounded by those damned Avvar out here, just waiting to ambush us.  Krem!”  He jerked his head and the lieutenant hopped up.  “You two!  See that he gets there and get your asses back here.”

With a final “Aye, Chief,” from the lieutenant, the four of them headed off as quickly as they were able towards the main camp by Fisher’s End.

“Think they’ll be fine on their own?” Blackwall asked after them.

“I trust my Chargers not to do anything too stupid.  They’ll be back.”  Truly, he didn’t look at all worried about them, sitting down and looking over his axe for damage.  Bevin noticed that he didn’t often clean the blood off the blades, though took great care with the rest of it.

“We should remain wary while here.  There are eyes upon us,” Solas warned cryptically, though he went about this business.

* * *

The first rift and beacon weren’t too difficult to deal with - the bogfishers, which reminded her of particularly ugly, docile hippos, were perhaps harder once accidentally provoked - after the brief restorative rest the group had.  The Chargers sent off had returned a few hours before what would normally be day break and caught what rest they could.

Approaching the rift, they came upon an oddly dressed man, self identified as an Avvar called Amund the Skywatcher, gazing at it.  He called out to them first, making little movement from where he stood.  His face was covered by a concealing mask of metal, but Bevin still got the impression that he was regarding them keenly.  “So you’re the Herald of Andraste.”  Not hard to identify Nikki with how the mark frequently spasmed from her hand.  “My kin want you dead, lowlander, but it’s not my job.  No fears from me.”

Those words did little to settle the others, but Nikki took up conversation with him readily enough.  “Why aren’t you with the other Avvar?

The Skywatcher turned back to the rift.  “Trying to figure out this hole in the world.  Never seen anything like its like.  They spit out angry spirits.  Endless.  What the sky’s trying to tell us, I don’t know.”

Nikki explained for him, “They’re called Fade rifts - caused by the big Breach swirly thing  in the sky.  Some kinda magic gone super wrong.”

From beneath the mask, Amund smiled wryly.  “I can see that, lowlander.  I’m talking about the Lady of the Skies.”  He gestured towards the sky with a subtle shake of his giant...staff?  “Do you not know her?  Do you not see the warning she writes through the bird flocks in the air?”

“Interesting how much Fereldan beliefs diverge.”  Solas said the words quietly beside her, but the Skywatcher still picked them up.

Amund looked to him sharply.   ”Call me Fereldan again, elf, and see how far you get.”  Knowing better than to start an argument when they had a goal that had to be seen to in a timely manner, Solas shook his head to disengage.

Getting Amund’s attention again, Nikki continued asking him questions.  “Are those from our patrol okay?  Why aren’t you attacking us?  I thought the Avvar wanted me dead?”

“To begin, a few of your people were injured in the skirmish.”  He shrugged.  “They were alive last I saw of them.  Someone’s trained them well.  Killed more of us than I thought they would.  It’s our chieftain's son who wants to fight you.  I’m called in when the dead pile up.  Rites to the gods, mending for the bleeding, a dagger for the dying.  I don’t pick up a blade for a whelp’s trophy hunt.”

Deciding he wouldn’t be a threat yet, if taken by his word, the group turned their attention to the rift.

Making quick work of it, they seemed to have made an impression upon the Skywatcher.  “Lady of the Skies…  You can mend the gaps in the air!”

“Pretty neat, huh,” the Iron Bull quipped as he looked over his axe.

He looked somewhat introspective, and spoke in awe, “Maybe you do have the gods’ favor…”

As they left to continue their slow trek to the other Avvar, he bid them to “watch the water.”

They managed to get turned around on an inlet even though the rain had very briefly let up and had given them the clearest view of the mire yet.  Able to see land further continuing after a stretch of deep water, they spent far longer than should have been needed backtracking to go around since this was too deep to realistically cross even if they didn’t pay any mind to the undead.

By the time the lightning broke across the skies and the rain began pouring again, tempers were running thin.  There was a tension hanging over the lot that was not helped by Nikki cracking half-hearted jokes or Cole attempting to make others feel better.  Everyone was getting sloppy with their attacks, defense was being forgotten.  Bevin would admit there was a bit too much ‘oomph’ behind some of her magic.  The Iron Bull was cutting it a bit close with some of his swings.

The quicker they got done with this and on their way out of the crappy weather, the better.

There was something different about the second rift they came across.  Amid the siege of demons, Bevin caught the eyes of Iron Bull and Solas in turn - they had noticed it, too.  There were far more demons coming from this rift than any other they had yet come across.

Bevin tried to pick off the fear demons, playing off their weakness to electricity to finish them quickly.  When demons decked in heavy knight armor appeared from shadowed pools in the ground, Bevin had to take a step back to regroup.

“Revenants,” Solas provided hastily in her ear.  “Corpses - in this case, the undead - possessed of a Pride demon.  It will make its appearance known shortly as we continue to fell its puppets.”  As he stalked away to provide backup to Blackwall and the Chargers, Bevin took note of how he had switched to using fire magic instead of his typical ice attacks.  Pride demons were immune to electricity - were these, too?  They had to have some kind of ice resistance for Solas to not bother at all with the magic of his strength.

Coming up with a strategy, Bevin took up backup for the Iron Bull and Cole while Nikki focused on the rift.  Carefully laying glyphs, she summoned up walls of fire to better cordon off groups of demons and prevent them from ganging up on anyone.

Picking up on the building static in the air and sharply rising amount of corrupted mana was her first tell that the Pride demon was about to make its entrance.  If it was anything like her, it would also be rocking added strength thanks to the storm.  She’d have to really focus to keep her nature out of the rest of her magic lest her spells have no effect on it.

Bevin let out a string of curses as a wave of cold unease and nausea hit her, causing her to stumble back and nearly take claws to the face.  She growled, frustrated with herself.  This was the most inopportune time for a fucking Vision.  She tried to push it back, to deny its hold on her, but knew the effort would be for nought.  The only thing she could do was remove herself from the battle as best she could while still maintaining her barriers.

On shaking legs, she stumbled away from the rift and fighting, using her staff to help balance.

With the amount of energy flowing from the rift and so many demons to keep track of, she had missed the encroaching life energies from beyond the henge they fought within.

When she realised what was happening, it was too late.  As her Vision pulled her under, she screamed out for the others, hoping they’d be able to hear over the cacophony of sounds from the battle waging on.  Sight wavering as she collapsed to her knees, she saw the shadows moving nearby.

Her panic is not distilled by the Sight but amplified ten fold.  She sees faces around her, gruesome and blackening from splotches across their skin.  Many are dead, covered, being moved to mass ditches.

She thinks one looks familiar, but she is turning away.  The landscaping now familiar, she recognizes this place as the Crossroads in the Hinterlands.

People are huddled together, clearly distressed.  Some are mourning.  There are soldiers armed at the exists and patrolling - their faces covered.  The numerous healers and chantry members are dressed similarly while attending to the people around her.

Is this place under quarantine?

When she came to once more, she was slung over a shoulder, jarred with each quick uneven step.  They hadn’t bothered binding her, her arms limp and loose over her head.  Trying to pretend she was still out, she kept as still as she could while covertly taking in their surroundings.  From best she could tell, they were heading south and no longer anywhere near the henge.  The shoreline was close on both sides.  Attempting escape here wouldn’t give her any options for where to run to.

After several more minutes, she turned her head slightly and saw that the land finally broke off in a few different directions.  Including the lug carrying her, there seemed to be at least four Avvar - two others she could see and another in front that she could hear.

Bevin took stock of what she had.  Her staff was gone.  Her bag was missing.  The weight around her waist remained, however, so she might still have her knives.  Without her staff, she wasn’t sure how controlled her magic would be.  She felt incredibly drained from the Vision, but she was replenishing mana quickly.

Taking in a breath, she knew what she was about to do had to be done very quickly, without hesitation - thinking too much would make her pull punches.  Reaching up with one fluid movement, she drew the strings from the band at her waist and withdrew her knives.  Passing half to her other hand, she drew up and plunged one into the neck of the man while kicking free of his grasp and pushing away.

Her first attack wasn’t clean or very deep, but it made him stumble and balk as blood poured from the wound.  Scrambling to her feet, she raced forward and made several more passes at him as he tried to dodge.  Seeing an opening, with an upwards lunge she drove a knife through his eye.

Hands were upon her, trying to pull her back and to the ground.  Struggling, she summoned what mana she could and brought lightning down on the Avvar restraining her.  She felt him seize behind her, though had squeezed her eyes closed from the blinding light.  Pulling free, lights danced in her vision and disrupted her balance.

The other Avvar seemed hesitant and unsure of whether to pursue or retreat.  Once one roared and ran at her, however, the remaining others joined in.

Still on unsteady feet, she dashed away as fast as she could towards one of the paths, not really paying much attention to where she was going.  She concentrated only on getting away.

Blindly, she threw fire glyphs behind in her wake.  Shaking her head, her vision steadied, though the thick mist and fog still concealed much of what was around her.  It wasn’t long before she realised that she was running straight to a cliffside.  She cursed, hoping this wasn’t a dead end.

Attempting to slow her pursuers, she tried to throw out balls of force magic to the water.  The undead that rose, however, didn’t seem to prove much of a challenge, as she still heard them yelling behind her and gaining ground.

Bevin came to a halt, breathing harshly, in a small area surrounded by rock on all sides but the direction she came from.  She glanced back and continued stepping towards the far side with panic building.

Growling from her left spooked her into jumping away with a gasp.  A moving shadow crept to her with raised hackles and shining gold eyes.  A pitiful whine came from the long grass.  She’d stumbled onto a wolf den.

As she backed away, that seemed enough to placate the beast.  But the Avvar had caught up to her.

Angry and unyielding, their apparent squad leader marched forward, sword in hand - but unnoticing of the other occupant of the space.

Having ignored her warning to back off, the wolf bounded forward and caught his arm in a punishing vice of teeth.  The man screamed in agony, trying to wrestle free of the grip or pry the teeth from his flesh.  Another ran forward and swung his axe, cutting fiercely at the wolf’s neck.  In another blow, the body sloppily dropped away from the head.

Bevin swallowed thickly, feeling bile rising in her throat at the gruesome sight.

She tried to call forth mana for any kind of spell, but she was running on empty still.  Her utter exhaustion must have been hampering the recovery of her mana stores - maybe it needed _something_ to run on.  Her knives were gone.  They’d taken the dagger on her calf.  She only had her body now.

Cluing in that she had little else to fight with, the bitten Avvar, shaking off his wound after throwing the head to the ground, reached out and grabbed her roughly with a jeer.  He rattled her shouting in his own language.

Her teeth clacked and she bit her tongue, hands coming up defensively to claw, punch, and push him away.  As she gasped for air, she could taste the blood pooling in her mouth.  Another one of the Avvar noticed her eyes fall to the long grass following another whine.

She watched him peer into the grass, then sneer.  With a swipe, he lifted the squealing pup into the air and reached for a dagger at his belt.  Her heart dropped.

“No!”  She felt the words rushing from her before she could give any thought to them.  “ _No_ , no, no - leave it alone!”   Bevin knew she needed to worry about her own skin, but at her core, she hated that one innocent life had already been lost to these bastards just moments ago.

The man in front of her shoved her roughly to the stone and pulled her arms back to bind them.  “I’ll come easy, just...please don’t hurt it,” she begged, hoping he understood Common.

Maybe thinking they had a way to control her, the other man gave the crying pup a shake but belted his dagger at a nod from the one manhandling her.  She didn’t have any further energy to continue fighting them right now, anyway.

With a shove and what she understood as another threat to gut her, she was made to march off again, ostensibly to the Hargrave Keep.

 

* * *

 

Bevin snapped back from her thoughts.

The Avvar leader came sauntering over to her.  “Where’s your so-called _Herald?_ ” he bellowed at her, accent thick.  She cringed at his acrid breath and spit.

There was a fury building within her.  It burned in her chest like fire, making her grit her teeth in attempt to keep her magic - what little she had recovered - in check.  But she could feel her skin heating as this hulking meathead continued to holler and whoop insults to further rile his followers.  She couldn’t afford to waste what mana she had.

“This _Inquisition_ is no true god-send.  Their Herald is a fool - made up to appease their weak, pathetic god.”  He laughed heartily.  “Let me show them what _real_ power of the gods looks like!”

She watched them.  Stalking around like restless hyenas.  Painted up in war paints and muds.  There was a stench to this place, like none had bathed since taking over the keep - likely longer.  Bevin noticed the boils and odd patches of darkened skin on many.  All around, there were crates of stolen, rotting food that rats and vermin actively feasted on.

They had brought the plague.  Or, at the very least, they were the ones who spread it to the surrounding area from taking over an abandoned, storm ravaged stronghold where it was lying dormant.  She wouldn’t be surprised if their dead were the ones making up the swarms of undead just beyond the main gate.

 _“You can take them,”_ whispered a voice in her mind.   _“I can lend you my strength.”_  She so sweetly crooned bloodied words that only served to feed the part of her that lusted for recognition.   _“You do not have to sit here and take this, Bay-vin.”_

Bevin briefly wondered if Mythal was really a spirit of Vengeance.  She knew what the woman was doing but didn’t care.  She had promised herself that she would never again sit idly by and take abuse from others.  She wouldn’t be treated like an object, some toy or pawn to further another’s goals.

“Do it.”

She couldn’t keep herself from grinning as she felt the searing of power released through her veins, white hot and scalding.  Her breath came in pants, chest heaving, as she fought to retain control while another’s power flowed through her.  The smell of burning rope hit her nose, the bonds around her turned to smoke and ash.

The Avvar yet danced below, not yet noticing the abrupt change in the atmosphere that had begun heating.

Holding her hands in front of her, Bevin saw the blue and white flames of magic licking fervently across her skin.  An odd calmness came over her.  She stood, not caring to pay any attention to the Avvar just yet.  With a touch, the rope binding the pup nearby turned to blackened dust.  She scooped it into her arms and encased it within a protective barrier, petting with soothing touches to quiet its whines.

Walking forward unhurriedly, she heard the outraged and confused calls of the Avvar warriors as they finally took notice of her.  Their leader looked like he didn’t know whether to fight or flee.  He backed away, yet yelled, “What are you?”  There were calls of “Demon!” from around her.  Those who were turning to flee would not get far.  She didn’t care to give him an answer, he was going to die anyway.  Her breath would be wasted on him.

Glyphs spread in her wake, given life with passing thought.  The wooden stakes and crates around them burst into flames, joined by a growing ring of red fire.  Bevin looked up towards the rain pouring down from the sky.  With a push of Will, the drops ignited as they fell around them.  Like a wrath of the heavens.  What did it say of a place where the very rain could catch fire?  It spread quickly, blocking the gates and enveloping the walls.  Screams echoed from those caught in its wake.

The Hand of Korth swung back his hammer and brought it down to strike her.  The handle exploded before he could complete the arc, sending the head on a lame trajectory elsewhere.

Bevin eyed him, thinking of the best way to do away with the bastard.  She could melt his helmet to his skull.  Boil his blood.  Burn away the oxygen from around him.

An air of sense made her ponder her own vengeful thoughts.  This wasn’t like her.  With a sneer and shake of her head, a summoned bar of metal pierced through the leader’s chest.

He collapsed, clutching at the unmoving metal with pained gasps.  Ignoring his grunts and cries she looked around for where the Inquisition soldiers would have been held.  She brushed off the few remaining Avvar who thought attacking her would make the fire disappear.  Finding one of the only wooden doors standing barred, she burned away the plank barricading it.

The smell of death and rot assaulted her.  Of five soldiers, each one looked to be in various stages of falling to the plague.  One lying against the far side was clearly long dead.  Another looked far worse but was barely holding on to life and struggled to lift his eyes to her.

One was pushing herself to stand, gratefulness in her eyes and a relieved smile on her face.  As she tried to walk towards her, clutching her side, Bevin could only shake her head in horror.  The woman wasn’t as far along as the others, but she was clearly deeply infected.  “I-I can’t let you leave,” she said, barely above a choked whisper.

It sank in: this is what she had seen.  They were far beyond saving.  Allowing any of them to leave here would only lead to more death.

“You’d have us die here?” the woman exclaimed angrily in disbelief.

Bevin tried for words but none would be voiced.

The woman pushed past her.  Bevin knew there was nowhere for her to go.

Bevin slammed the door shut and leaned back against it.  The woman was staggering around, looking for a way out amidst the flames and smoke.  “You’re too sick!” she called.  “Leaving here will only endanger and kill others.”

The woman sobbed.  “I can’t die here.”

She wasn’t sure what she could possibly say to her.  She couldn’t risk the woman leaving here alive or dead.  “What’s your name?”

Unable to stand any longer, the woman fell to her knees.  “Corina...Corina Shepherd.”

Bevin swallowed thickly.  “Do you have any family, Corina?  Anything you’d like me to relay back?”

She could see the smoke beginning to affect the woman.  Thinking allowing her to pass out would be kinder, she did nothing to help clear it from around her.  Corina’s voice was thick and she coughed, “They live to the north, a small town...Crestwood.  Can you...can you tell them goodbye for me?  Tell my baby brother he needs to, needs to grow up big and strong.”  She slumped forward.  “And Mathias has a son he wrote to.  Brooks’ little daughter - she’s six.  Loves all things little girls do.  And mud.  Always getting caked in her hair.”  She continued to ramble on, her voice growing weaker until she had fallen over, unconscious from smoke inhalation.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.  “I’m so sorry.”

“They’re gone,” Cole said from beside her.

Looking to him sorrowfully, his eyes moved up to the door behind her.  She wondered if they had just passed or if he had helped them along in their last moments.

She stepped forward from the door.  Using her waning magic, she lifted Corina and placed her nearby her fellow soldiers.  “Can you…?” she bleakly asked of him.  As bad as everything already was, she didn’t want to burn the other woman alive, unconscious or no.

Cole stooped and held a hand over Corina’s head.  Bevin watched the last bits of life leave her.

Taking a deep breath to hold back the tears that wanted to fall for the loss, she began moving to leave.  As they stepped out, the inferno closed and raged on behind them.

It felt like forever had passed, yet it had only been a few brief minutes before the gifted power receded.  Bevin felt herself returning, her first thought in fright of how much Mythal could affect her mind like that.  But she couldn’t bring herself to feel truly guilty for all she had done.  A large part of her had wanted to take down the Avvar here regardless of the spirit’s influence.

Exhaustion hit her hard.  She had never expended that kind of energy before.  Her whole being was drained, though she could feel it returning to her as she took in energy from the surrounding nature.  Somehow it felt cleaner now.

Finding an out of the way rock beyond where the gnawing undead continued to pace, she sat.  The others would find her.  Opening her eyes and glancing up, Cole stood a ways in front of her.  He appeared pale - or paler than normal - and somewhat spooked.

“She makes you not you,” he stated.  This was the first time she had ever seen him so at a loss for words.  Or at least unwilling to share them.  He didn’t really need to, though.  She scared herself.

“Is what I did wrong?” she asked aloud, not wholly for the spirit, but she felt the need to voice it.  Was there a way to save them?

“You freed them,” Cole answered anyway.  “They were dying.  Others would have died.  She was thankful.”  He frowned, his face concentrated.  “They jeer, take joy in our weakness as we slip further into death.  I’ve prayed the Maker take us, for that would finally bring relief.  I can only hope this disease treats them just as well.”

By the end, within herself, Corina knew they’d never survive this.

Bevin looked to the keep, ignoring the comfort she took from the radiating warmth of the fire that was breaking it down.  When she looked back, Cole had vanished.

The pup squirmed in her arms, wrapped within her cloak to prevent the rain and chill from reaching it.  She summoned up a weak shield working like a kind of umbrella, letting the rain drip off the sides around her.  Bevin checked for any injuries, but she was likely just hungry.

With a sigh, she began going over the pup for any signs of fleas.  The most common carrier of plagues was rats and other vermin because of the fleas they harbored which were the true culprits of the disease.  There would be no use keeping the pup if she would just be another vector.

Bevin found no fleas or bites or blotches - though did pull a couple small ticks from her belly.  She would still have to be monitored carefully.  There were plants that could be used to rid her of intestinal worms.  The pup was young enough, though, that she’d probably still need to have any food broken down or pre-chewed - hopefully she was already weaned or in the process of being weaned.

Well, the whole lot of them would need to quarantine themselves somewhere for at least a few weeks anyway.  They couldn’t risk this sickness getting back anywhere.

She set her down to waddle around the ground.  The wolf pup had her mom’s shaggy black coat, though there were a few patches where color may come through as she grew.  Her golden eyes were bright and inquisitive.  Her feet were large and clumsy, tail whipping back and forth behind her as she struggled to keep her balance batting at rain drops falling from the shield above them.

“I’ll call you...Boudica.”

As she waited on the others, she hummed a familiar tune, watching the keep smolder and burn brightly.  She didn’t think it would take them long to come investigate a giant fire.

“I set fire to the rain.  And I threw us into the flames…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boudica = "BOW-dee-kuh." Bevin nickname's her "Boudi," which she pronounces more like "BOW-tee" (a little like 'boaty' with a pronounced 't'). There are numerous spellings and pronunciations for it, but Bevin does name her after the Celtic rebel queen who took on the Romans.


	23. Accelerate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be spending some time in the Hinterlands for now, again (at least another chapter or two).
> 
> Do you know how hard it is to press the post button when you keep convincing yourself that more editing needs to be done?
> 
> Word count: ~5.2k
> 
> September 2017 Edit: I have now added some fancy-schmancy CSS to SAR. Presently, it only affects the line breaks in each chapter. I've color-coded them to denote the POV (Purple/Turquoise for Bevin, Forest Green for Solas, Gold/Rift Green for Nikki), and the ones that show as dots are for scene changes or passages of time within a POV. You can toggle whether or not the work skin is on to show this effect (or hide it and just have normal line breaks) by clicking "Show/Hide Creator's Style" near the top of the page.

* * *

He had seen her fall from across the battlefield. He fought to reach her side but was slowed by the Pride demon that had locked onto him as a target upon mistakenly stepping into its line of sight. By the time he had Fade-stepped and pushed through to where he last saw her, she was gone, her staff thrown abandoned in the wet earth.

He searched frantically for signs of where she had gone and picked up the faint markings from foot falls leading back to the stones that encircled them.

As much as it pained him, he could not yet give chase after her abductors. There was no doubt in his mind that the Avvar had taken her, but it would be irresponsible to leave his comrades in the midst of a souring bloody battle. Looking back, he noted that Cole had also disappeared, so perhaps the spirit was trailing them.

How cowardly to use the rift as a distraction to pick them off.

With a sneer of disdain he redoubled his efforts to see the rift closed.

At the defeat of the Pride demon, the other demons withered. Nichole was quick to use the anchor to seal the rift.

Exhausted in anger, he regrouped with the others. Not giving them a chance to catch their breath, he imparted, “Bevin has been taken.”

“What? Who took her?” The Herald, somewhat predictably, exploded into a mixture of rage, confusion, and fear for her friend’s safety.

“I did not see, though the Avvar have been watching us for some time from the shadows. They may have grown impatient.” He scooped up Bevin’s staff and went back over the ground to track the footprints properly. “Cole is most likely with her.”

The prints lead to a dark, narrow path behind the stones.

“I’ll go around the outside - no way I’m fitting through there.” Iron Bull bid the Chargers to split up and search the area for further signs.

Tuning out the noise from the others, Solas followed the path, keenly taking in everything. If she had another Vision during the battle, as he suspected, there were unlikely to be any signs of a struggle until she awoke.

Calculating how long she had been gone and the average length of time for her Visions, he sped up his steps some. The path took him back around to where they had most recently lit a beacon.

“Oy!” called Krem with a wave. The lieutenant held up a bag. “This is Bevin’s. Looks like they went through it. Can’t tell if anything’s missing, though.”

Solas took the proffered satchel and noted what had been tossed to the ground. Mostly herbs and some parchment. The important things were still within her bag.

“They most likely took her to their stronghold.” Iron Bull looked off in the general direction of where the keep was to be. The muddied tracks headed that way lead credence to his theory. “We should continue that way.”

“I agree.” He nodded.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Move your asses!” The Herald determinedly pushed past them and made haste down the path. “If it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they’ll get!”

They found the exact area where Bevin had fought back, nearing the keep, but still not quite within viewing range through the fog. The ground was scorched black and still smoking in a wide area. Two bodies were found nearby, one badly burned, the other with several slashes made to the exposed flesh and a knife run deep through an eye.

“Think this was Bevin’s doing or Cole’s?” Blackwall asked while inspecting the knife jutting from the body.

“That’s my girl!” the Herald exclaimed. “That’s one of her throwing knives.” She continued to look around, though the pride slipped back to worry. “Think she made it away safely?”

“Hard to tell,” Iron Bull answered, his lone eye scrutinizing the ground around them. “There was a lot of movement here, a lot of blood spilled. Hopefully, all theirs. Girl’s resourceful, though. Sure she’s fine around here somewhere.” He walked off a ways towards another pathway. His head cocked in thought, and he peered back towards the way that would take them to the Hargrave Keep. “Tracks go in both directions but they double back here.”

“So, like, she ran and they may have lost her and ran back to their base?” Nichole asked, her brow furrowing.

Iron Bull shrugged. “Maybe.”

Nichole ran down the path marred with multiple sets of prints. “Bevin!” she called out repeatedly.

Shaking his head, Solas followed behind the others that chased after her.

They were met with another gruesome scene, though it was not one they expected. What looked to be a fairly emaciated black wolf lie decapitated just beyond her den. Exploring the shallow den in the crevice of the stone revealed a pair of recently deceased pups, maybe a couple months old, possibly starved.

Nichole appeared horrified taking in the scene, shaking her head not being able to fully comprehend it.

“Ten gold says that’s where she is.” Solas looked towards where Iron Bull stood facing with a grim grin. The horizon had filled with bright oranges and reds, grey clouds of smoke billowing up. The Hargrave Keep was on fire.

They made haste to the south, not needing to follow the tracks in the mud to know exactly where they headed. He sensed a massive amount of magic focused up ahead and feared that it would draw demons if they were not already there. If Bevin was already in the midst of battle, it had the potential to become much worse.

What they came to was a sight devoid of any action or alarm. Bevin sat just beyond the mire bridge of the burning stronghold swinging her feet from her perch and watching the rain mingle with the smoke overhead from beneath shielding magic. The Avvar Mage from before stood nearby, face upturned as well.

“Leave any fun for us?” the Iron Bull called out to her as they approached. She turned and greeted them silently with a wave.

Many of the others looked about warily, unsure of what to do. Of all scenarios for which they had prepared themselves, the complete lack of conflict was not one that they had expected.

“What happened?” the Herald asked without pretense.

“The Avvar bit off more than they could chew.” Bevin shrugged. She saw their mixed disbelief and astonishment. “Not as big of a feat as it looks. Most of them were infected. This is the site of the outbreak, hence burning it to the ground.”

“Where are the missing soldiers?” Though the Avvar had been dispatched, their reason for coming to the mire was noticeably missing. Nichole’s question was upon all of their minds.

He caught Bevin wince unconsciously and moving to hide her face, but she shook her head remorsefully. “All but one were already taken by the disease by the time I found them. She didn’t make it.” She was uneasy, not telling them all of the details. Something else went on here, though he would not confront her in front of the others. “Do you have any leftovers or rations?” Bevin asked, shifting the topic.

He wondered if the whole of the magic used here was hers or if perhaps part of it belonged to the Avvar beside her. Had he been involved? Bevin appeared to be in quite good health and stamina, at odds with the scene continuing to rage behind her. It was possible that had she sustained injury it had already healed. But was this kind of magic possible for Bevin to perform alone?

Nichole searched through her pack and tossed her one of their wrapped ration packs. He walked forward to return her equipment to her. Movement drew his eye to her lap - something was hidden beneath her cloak.

She noticed his gaze and looked down with a smile. Bevin unwrapped the ration deftly, popping dried meat into her mouth. After swallowing, she said, “Someone’s getting a bit fussy.” She set the food down on the stone beside her and picked up a bit of cheese, tearing it to smaller portions. Palming several, she moved her cloak aside, revealing a small pup - identical to the ones he had seen in the den earlier. It eagerly snatched up the proffered food.

The Herald gasped and reached to pet it with a squeal.

Bevin shooed her away. “I don’t think she’s infected with anything, but we need to minimize contact for a bit to make sure. I’ve already sat in the hub of it, so I’m about as exposed as anyone’s going to be. As a whole, we should camp out somewhere nicer than...this,” she gestured around them, “for a few weeks to quarantine ourselves before returning to Skyhold.”

“We passed a lot of abandoned houses in the Hinterlands. Could make use of one,” Blackwall spoke up.

Bevin looked distinctly uneasy. “I had a Vision involving the plague being brought back to the Crossroads. We need to make absolutely certain that that _doesn’t_ happen. Somewhere remote may work.”

Panic turned the Herald pale. “Does that mean someone here is already infected?”

“Not...necessarily.” Bevin was hesitant with her words. “Though the scouts and soldiers stationed here should also vacate immediately and be quarantined. I’ll be writing Leliana as this needs to be treated seriously.”

She hopped up, scooping the pup within her arm and reaching for her satchel. Securing it and her staff once again, she picked up the food and balanced it in her hand to feed the pup and herself. “We should get out of here.”

“Is this...like, okay like this?” Nichole pointed to the actively burning keep.

“Oh, yes.” Bevin nodded emphatically. “That shit needs to _burn_. There will be no life left by the time it dies down. Nothing to carry the disease out.”

“So, their leader is in there? He’s dead, right?” Nichole needed the affirmation, still disbelieving of what she saw before her eyes.

“Aye, there lies the brat,” the Avvar Mage replied gruffly. “His father, chief of our holding, would duel me for the loss, if he cared enough.”

Bevin walked up to the other Mage. “Please consider my words, Amund. Our goals are not so dissimilar.” She parted with a soft smile.

He had not wholly paid it much attention, another fault, but Bevin was forging her own allies. While the Herald drew the masses, those aligning themselves with Bevin were arguably more resourceful and would perhaps remain loyal in the long term.

“Never thought I would meet another sky watcher in these parts,” he heard the Avvar Mage mumble as he stepped to follow after Bevin. Turning, the Mage faced away to the flames, head once more upturned to the sky.

* * *

Things normalized between Bevin and him. Her spirits were up, and she was once again bantering with the others as they left the quieting storm and burning mire behind them. Despite the fact that they would be halting much work for the better part of a month, it seemed that, for now, everyone was just glad to be gone of the wet environment.

They were headed to a secluded valley where it had been noted that there were a couple of long abandoned homes of which they could make use. Alongside them would be the dozen-odd scouts and soldiers being pulled from their stations near the mire. Within the swamplands, homes had been burned in their wake as a precautionary measure. Between the illness and Avvar, the villagers had already fled or abandoned their dwellings.

Bevin rode alongside Nichole and Scout Harding, the pup fidgeting in her lap as they cooed over it.

The Iron Bull and Blackwall were discussing the finer points of the Grey Wardens versus life under the Qun. It was a familiar argument in which he had also participated.

“So, what’d you name her?” he heard Harding ask.

Bevin replied with an unseen grin, “Boudica.”

Nicole's face lit up in recognition. “That’s the, uh, the Irish warrior person, right?”

Shaking her head, Bevin corrected her, “She’s the _Celtic_ rebel queen who stood up to Roman Empire occupation.”

Nichole was briefly silent in thought, brow knit in confusion. “I thought those were same thing? What’s the difference?”

“‘Celtic’ is largely used as a linguistic classification. It’s made up of Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Welsh, Manx, and some others. It’s more nuanced than that, but I’ll save you the history lesson. In other words, the Irish are Celtic, but not all Celts are Irish. Incidentally, the historic Boudica was a Briton.”

Solas shifted more of his attention towards their conversation now that it appeared to be moving towards Bevin’s background. He knew so little of their world - their words were adding to the mental painting he was creating of it. It sounded as though the Herald already had some idea of her ancestry. “But you’re, like, super Irish, right?”

Bevin made a sound of disgust. She grumbled the words as though they left a bad taste upon her tongue. “Pedigree and all. I went looking to try to prove them wrong somewhere, but my family was fucking obsessed with bloodlines over several centuries and kept ridiculous records. I actually hired someone to help me scour archives to compare our records to. Seriously, _immaculate_. I was even hoping for some inbreeding - which, frankly would have explained some things. You had to have detailed ancestry records to even marry into the clan. It got about as close to inbreeding as you can without actually getting there.”

The Herald threw her head back and laughed. “That sounds like a white nationalist’s wet dream! I think my family’s French or German.”

Shoulders hunching, Bevin shook her head as through shunning the idea. “Tell me about it… I only bring it up here because it’s something rendered completely pointless now. To that end, Nikki, ‘Sinclair,’ as a surname, is French.”

Harding was catching up, not sure what to make of the turn in conversation. “A what’s wet dream?”

“‘White nationalist,’ which wouldn’t really make a whole lot of sense here. In our world, there are only humans. When we speak of race there, it comes down to skin color and ethnicity instead of Human, Elf, Dwarf, Qunari, et cetera.” Bevin crooned at the pup, tickling her belly, “Surprise! People like to hate each other.” She added flatly, “Still a racial supremacy thing.”

Nichole summarized it, “They’d like her because of her bloodline and her ability to prove it.”

“Also some of my favorite people to troll.” Bevin laughed at some memory. “Usually the same ones telling me that fuckin’ redheads are dying out. Makes ‘em get real twitchy when you start talking about fucking your big, black boyfriend.” She tipped her head back in thought. “Would be like if someone here really hated Qunari and I went on about fucking the Iron Bull.”

“We can talk specifics, if you’d like,” the man butted in with a suggestive grin from where he rode.

She humored him. “Gotta get the story right, yeah?”

Bevin was becoming surer in her place here. Whether she acknowledged it or not, taking in a dependant, the young wolf hybrid, tied her to this realm. He was eager to see into what roles she would ultimately grow.

There would be little to do stuck in the midst of the Hinterlands, and he regretted not bringing along more of his research. With fewer distractions and demands for either of them, maybe it would be best to take advantage of this time.

However, while he wanted to make his intentions known, he was still unsure of how receptive she was. While she had not rejected any advances, he feared voicing anything was still too early.

At the same time, the Iron Bull was brazenly making passes at her every chance he got, which she took ever in good natured stride. He could only hope that it meant she did not take the flirting seriously.

One benefit this opportunity allowed was a greater ease by which to contact his own agents. Slowly, but steadily, they grew in number throughout Thedas. The Nightingale’s ever watchful eyes were upon him even here, though it was much easier to slip away.

* * *

As they were coming upon their destination, Bevin called back to him. He bid his mount to approach, and she waved others over.

“We’re going to be addressing the lot here momentarily,” she announced. “I don’t need to remind y’all why we’re doing this, but we do need to establish protocol while we wait out the illness’ incubation period - or, rather, a severely generalized estimation of it - to ensure that nothing’s spread. Four weeks. Considering our lack of supplies, support, and modern medicine, it’s not going to be a true quarantine, but we need to enforce what we do have. I’ve never dealt with plagues specifically before, but I have extensive training in contamination and containment procedures.” He saw some eyebrows rise at that - the Herald the only one appearing unsurprised or questioning. While always forthright when asked, Bevin rarely spoke of her past schooling and training in much detail. He often suspected there was much intentionally left unsaid simply because no-one knew to seek it.

She continued on to run through a list of rules they would be sticking to for the following weeks. “No out-going anything. The illness has some means of contact transfer, but I don’t know to what degree. Everything needs to be boiled or otherwise sanitized. Non-necessary things will be burned. We’ve received a raven back about supplies, so that is on it’s way. There will be an outside group relaying supplies here to a nearby drop point. Any and _all_ outgoing messages will need to be dictated to them.

“ _Ideally,_ everyone would have their own tent. As that’s not possible, we need to minimize contact points as much as possible. The groups that travelled together should stay together. Once we set individual spaces, there will be no swapping.

“Hygiene and elevated cleanliness standards will be enforced - people, mounts, _everything._ However, we need to stay clear of the river for now. I’ll re-evaluate that periodically as time goes on, but water sources are easy targets for contamination.

“Every morning, every single person needs to be checked over for potential symptoms. This will fall to you,” she listed half a dozen names, including him. “Not including myself for a time since I sat in the midst of the grossness.  Hopefully, between all y'all this will be a quick affair. You’ll do a baseline check after we arrive. I’ll go over a list of things to look out for, but it’s not exhaustive. Anyone acting odd needs to be monitored and further isolated.”

Bevin took a deep breath, ending her speech with an uncomfortable, forced grin. She looked around at the blank faces. “Any questions?” she asked enthusiastically, knowing she had set out a lot of information to take in.

There was one question he could see dancing in their minds, but no-one desired to be the one to voice it.

She answered others, mostly of minutiae. She stressed that it was important to keep morale up during this time. It would be dangerous to fall to idle minds and paranoia.

 

* * *

 

Bevin sat in front of her improvised tent arranging kindling within a ring of stones for a fire. She’d draped a spare tarp over a low branch, staking the corners and placing her bedroll beneath. Solas stood over her with a disapproving scowl, looking ready to launch back into their argument.

Unsurprisingly, exactly what he did. “You needn’t stay out here. _You_ are not ill. I find it improbable that you could be.”

“I’m not doing this for me,” she snapped. She threw a gesturing hand out at the rest of the camp settlement. “If they don’t think _I’m_ taking this seriously, _they_ won’t either. No-one else knows about _that,_ Solas.”

With a sigh and shake of his head, he finally seemed to be conceding her points.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not inclimate or anything.” It was her turn to scowl with a stomp of her foot in the dirt as he folded his legs and sat nearby. “You are _completely_ defeating the purpose of this,” she hissed. He leaned against the tree, and she rolled her eyes. “‘I told him so,’ is going on your tombstone.”

Nikki was walking their way, and she waved off the other woman with a frustrated whine. “ _No!_ Go away.”

She stopped several feet away, crossing her arms. “You’re not staying all the way over here by _yourself,_ Bevin.”

Bevin scoffed, frustrated that no-one was taking her seriously in this endeavor. “I’m perfectly capable-”

Nikki interrupted her, “Dude, no. You are not staying by yourself. People are _already_ targeting you, and that’s only going to get worse. Yeah, you’re probably fine most of the time, but you can’t protect yourself when you have one of those Visions.”

Arguing against that was only going to have getting kidnapped by the Avvar thrown back in her face. “I’m in the midst of everyone else and there’s a cliffside at my back.”

Nikki stared at her a long moment, hands on her hips, then turned her head to Solas. “You’re watching her, right?” At his assuring nod, she walked off with finality.

Bevin shook her head, unhappy that she had lost the ground on this. With a wave of her hand, a fire took hold in front of her and quickly roared to life. Leaning back against a log, she contemplated what she could do to make sure such arrangements did not continue. She wouldn’t be able to stand having constant eyes on her.

 

* * *

 

Solas understood why it bothered her so, why she fought it. She did not wish to rely on or burden others. She did not enjoy feeling incapable, vulnerable. _Pride._

But this was an oversight that could not be made again. She had been lucky that the Avvar had simply taken her instead of outright killing her. The damage she left in her wake, even as weakened as she had been made, was testament to her ability. Though the strength of even the most powerful being meant little when suddenly struck void of it, however temporary.

From how she described the process of her Visions, it was unlikely that there would be a simple solution here. She could not maintain active connections to glyphs or cast with how mana forcefully returned to power her Foresight.

While that circumstance held true, another would have to maintain vigil over her.  For now, he would maintain that role in a stricter sense.  Would that he could go back to that moment the Avvar first took her, he knew that he would have chosen differently now.  As the dangers became all that more real, the urges to keep her from them grew.  It bothered him that her well-being, her importance was beginning to eclipse the goals he held.  Feelings aside, she was ultimately a tool to further those goals.

“Given what is to be our time here,” Bevin, startled from her reverie, looked over to him as he spoke, “to see it not come to waste, we will continue your training. It should not require coming into contact with others, so we may begin immediately.” He caught her rolling her eyes at his words, and he stilled the mirth pulling at his lips.

The sun was just beginning to set, so they would have plenty of light left in the day for what he had planned. He stood and bid her to follow, extinguishing the fire and ignoring her halfhearted grumbling.

They walked out of the large camp and headed to a nearby field dotted with trees. He sighed seeing the pup held in her arms. He would never object to it being near - indeed, she would not leave it behind - however, it was only now occurring to him that it, too, would require an eye while still so young.

He lead her to a clear portion and stood facing her. “The first technique will likely take some time and diligent practice before proficiency.” He flexed the Veil to propel himself backwards several paces.

Her face brightened instantly with interest. He had promised months ago to instruct her in this when he believed her ready. As she was requiring her staff less frequently now, he would use this to begin her lessons in utilizing stronger magic without a conduit.

She set the pup down and encased her in a wide containment barrier. He had no doubt she would be able to support it - indeed, her focus, while awake, was oftentimes a feat of amazement.

Her eyes watched him intently as he demonstrated the Fade-stepping technique, albeit, slightly slowed for her to more easily analyze. He noticed her gaze lingering on the after trail of magic, and he wondered if she could sense it enough to be able to work through the mechanics without further instruction. He would give instruction if needed, but in this trial he desired to see what she would put together first.

“I would like you to use it to catch a ram,” he said casually as he strode back to her placed barrier. He passed inside easily, a friendly presence, and sat beside Boudica.

Bevin was eyeing him incredulously. “This is like one of those movie training montages. I could probably dig out a memory of one, even. Will I have to sing for my supper, too?”

“No, simply catch it. In the prescribed manner, of course.” He gave the pup a scruff under her chin. There would be many a time in battle when she would have to be able to defend against unknown magic. Being able to take such spells apart mentally was key to survival.

After several false starts and much pacing to and fro through the glen while gesticulating her thoughts, he could tell that she was putting it together.

When the pieces fell into place between her mind and practice, it was quite sudden. She did not swath herself within the chill of Winter as he did, yet instead shrouded herself in a cloak of Storm. Overestimating the output of magic, the air around them became heavy with static. Perhaps rather explosively, she was carried blindingly from one side of the clearing to the other, very narrowly missing a tree.

Surprised by her own success, she stumbled back on shaking legs, landing soundly on her hind. A good start - refinement was expected. He waved her over.

Bevin began stepping forward, then slowed, her brow furrowed in concentration. Another step and she was before him in a strike of lightning.

“Very good,” he praised, beating back the part of him registering the blanketing weight of her magic flowing freely over him as a threat to be brought to heel. Solas cleared his throat. “You are overplacing energy, leading to the…” He gestured widely.

“Moreness,” she supplied with a laugh and nod of agreement.

“Yes. Inevitable that a little more work would be needed but a commendable first try. Explain to me your methodology, please.” This was an exercise that he had started using with her. An excellent learning tool for certain, but it allowed him a further glance into the workings of her mind.

He was patient as she searched for words. “When you do it, the Veil kind of surrounds you and pushes you forward. Almost like you suddenly have ice skates, and you’re being thrust forward super fast on ice.” This seemed to imply that how they went about it was different, but he would let her finish. “I have next to zero control over Ice magic, so that wasn’t going to work. It’s a similar concept, though, being carried from one location to another. It’s not quite a push, though, more like being lifted and dropped. I tried doing it normally, without elemental magic, but it was creeping through anyway, so I kinda just went with it. That was when it, like, clicked.”

The increasing chance that she was _not_ purposefully pushing that much mana into the skill was interesting, though meant that she required practice in mana flow control. The Storm magic coloring her mana expenditure was another area upon which he intended to have her work further. Should she come up against an enemy with resistances built against the element, she would face much difficulty.

“Might I suggest taking time to scale back the technique before endeavouring in your pursuit of your dinner?” In response to his words, she stuck her tongue out at him and marched off to continue her work. “Lest your prey sense your presence and flee.”

He watched on as she flitted back and forth, refining her stepping each pass and becoming acclimated with its effects. No more did she fall when arriving at her destination, and the stumbling missteps would disappear with use.

She had determined when she was ready to fulfill her task. Seeing no need to make her decision known to him, she flashed between trees heading further into the valley.

When she finally found one, it had clearly turned into a more arduous task than she had expected. Her mana stores were not limitless, after all, and fatigue had set in.

Bevin was corralling it towards him though had not been fortunate in catching it as of yet. She appeared a ways away, bent forward with her hands on her knees and breathing hard as the ram ran past him in a wide berth. Taking a deep breath, she stilled, and he worried that she was giving up.

She straightened and tilted her head, eyes following the ram as it ran. The energy in the air built once more, though in an unexpected turn, Bevin did not move. The ram was pulled backwards to her, far more violently than for which she was ready as the force of it knocked her flat.

Both of them now scrambling for purchase, she rolled over as it stood and grabbed a leg, tripping it, while lunging with her other arm to take hold of the hair on its back. The ram fell over gracelessly and kicked out, landing a hit squarely to her chest. With a pulse of directed energy, the ram stilled beneath her.

Bevin fell beside it, rubbing at her chest with a grimace. A grin spread across her face, and she pumped a fist in the air. “I win!”

Throughout the ordeal, he had not missed how her barrier around the pup never once wavered. She made her way towards him, pride in her feat written in every movement. He shrugged. “To be accurate, I had asked you to catch a ram by Fade-stepping. I am not so certain that counted.” He only meant to goad her a little.

“I just flipped it! Why wouldn’t the inverse count?” she exclaimed skeptically. “Instead of me going to the ram, I brought the ram to me.” When he remained silent, she caught on and pouted. “You’re just fucking with me, you jerk.” Turning on her heel, she returned to the ram, not quite missing the mirth he allowed to show.

The ram was encapsulated within another barrier to make for easy transport. She released the first and the pup ran to her side, falling over herself in excitement. Sweet words fell to the hybrid as she poked about the patch where the ram had been felled.

“Come, Boudi,” she bid with enthusiasm, “we have a ram to dress and supper to make! Finally...”

Raising to his feet, he scoffed. “It did not take you that long. That sun is only just below the horizon.”

“My stomach doesn’t care.”  She picked up a catchy tune, humming as she swayed her hips in an improvised dance as they walked.  He was more than happy to allow her to lead.


	24. It's Super Effective!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey! :D I apologize for the accidental hiatus there.
> 
> I come bearing an additional gift! Here's my [Spotify playlist for SAR](https://open.spotify.com/user/xoc0atl/playlist/5uM30UK4QIQueR5O4ykwjD?si=ZTcYqfZAS82AOcjcM8bHfA). I also have [one for Bevin](https://open.spotify.com/user/xoc0atl/playlist/18VK5womnRBYBmRs8eYhRS?si=ecRh8j_rRGqlYtrS1pvt2Q), but there's, like, 99% overlap between the two, lol. Filled with lots of SAR inspirational and writing music. And just a lot of my favorites.
> 
> Chapter warnings: cutting (in the context of Bevin getting a bit exploratory with her self-healing ability)
> 
> I have now added some fancy-schmancy CSS to SAR. Presently, it only affects the line breaks in each chapter. I've color-coded them to denote the POV (Purple/Turquoise for Bevin, Forest Green for Solas, Gold/Rift Green for Nikki), and the ones that show as dots are for scene changes or passages of time within a POV. You can toggle whether or not the work skin is on to show this effect (or hide it and just have normal line breaks) by clicking "Show/Hide Creator's Style" near the top of the page.
> 
> As always, I'm grateful for all feedback!
> 
> Word count: ~9.5k

* * *

Solas had proven that he could fall asleep practically anywhere, in any position.  The entire camp had been warded, and each night he would walk the perimeter before settling in to sleep mostly upright against the tree nearby.  She had a tent now, but he steadfastly stuck to his tree.

For the most part, people left them both alone.  Provisions and correspondence would be dropped off occasionally.  She could tell, even at the distance she was from the others, that no-one was particularly thrilled about this whole situation.  Despite that, Nikki was doing a good job of keeping everyone in line.

Their evenings were peaceful.  She spent them entertaining herself with her phone, though occasionally reading.  Varric had included for her a copy of one of his books with the first bout of supplies sent to them.  She was even thinking of allowing her elven companion use of her phone again - under her careful supervision, of course.

And then soon thought otherwise due to his...unneeded social commentary after inquiring about the Pokémon emulator game she was playing.  

* * *

“So one catches these creatures and forces them to do battle with other captured creatures?”

“Solas, it’s a game.”

“Is it not a form of slavery?”

“A game.”

“That should not excuse i-”

“It doesn’t need an excuse.  It’s a game.  Fantasy.”

“These creatures that are otherwise living perfectly happy lives within their home environments are attacked and made to do the bidding of their ‘trainer-’”

“Entertainment.  No-one’s being hurt.  Except this motherfucker and his smug face...”

“Simply to prove that one is better than another.”

“You want a gecko, a chicken, or a...Mudkip?”

* * *

She started him with a Mudkip.

Not that he played at all, she merely voiced the actions she chose for ‘his’ character.

Their days were mostly subdued.  This area of the Hinterlands was relatively peaceful now - not many would knowingly disturb a large Inquisition camp.  Solas took to his research once more, often spending hours writing and reading.  When they inevitably grew bored, she’d tell him of the wonders of her world.  Cars, airplanes, skyscrapers, submarines, microwave dinners. _Sunglasses_.

He’d share more stories of his time within the Fade.  Of ancient cities, of simple memoirs, treasured crags, and hidden ruins.  The more he spoke, the more it felt as though he wasn’t exactly simply recalling memories that the _Fade_ produced.  There was a certain wistfulness that couldn’t be attributed just to wanderlust.  He very rarely spoke about himself or his past, but she gleaned bits here and there from the topics and what came across as projection and perhaps hidden fantasy.

Something weighed heavily upon his shoulders.  A deep regret that haunted him.  She wanted to ask, but she knew the importance of giving space.  She, too, had regrets and tragedy in her past.  Years were spent detailing them, tearing them apart for the cold judgments of others.  Some would justify her, but the loudest were those who only wanted to see her punished, shredded to pieces.  And those were the ones that always stuck with you, made you question all that you were.

Those moments that didn’t take you back _there_ were coveted.

And so she ignored her urge to question, instead balancing her phone _just so_ on her knee.  The screen showed him framed, eyes staring into the distance of the flames as he spoke, everything about him relaxed in this beat of time.  She covertly took a few, maybe a dozen pictures.

She’d yet to formally share this particular function of her phone with him.  Most often she had used it to make backups of her written notes and picture copies of book passages.  She’d begun secretly photoing places and things of interest as they journeyed.  While the interest from others about her phone was more the way of quiet curiosity, she didn’t want to push her luck.  He’d seen some, however, so he had to have some idea of how she got them.

But she didn’t really want to explain the rest of the pictures she had taken.  The Chargers cheerfully fooling around together.  The Iron Bull hunched over cleaning blood and bits of guts from his ax.  Nikki on the ramparts of Skyhold looking every bit the leader she’d been newly entitled.  Mother Giselle comforting the wounded that had made it through the journey to the stronghold.  The Breach as it spiralled ominously in the sky above Haven.  Boudica doing puppy things.  Boudica chasing butterflies and bees.  Boudica sopping wet from a bucket of water being dumped over her after rolling in mud.  Boudica snuggling up to her after a long day of exploring the twenty foot radius presently allowed to her.

“I’ll have to try my hand sometime once we’re back at Skyhold.  I miss baking.  Never would have guessed _you_ had a sweet tooth, though,” she teased, grinning.  Bevin hadn’t missed the glimmer in his eye as he described Orlesian confectionery - one of many things that they hadn’t had the chance to partake in during their short stint at Val Royeaux.  He bashfully shook his head with a quiet laugh though didn’t deny it.

“I also miss pizza.  And ice cream.”  She sighed, eyeing the leftover ram wrapped and sitting on top of an ice glyph.  There were few options for food when they were at a Keep, much less out in the field.  “Pizza is made with a flattened dough that rises slightly, tomato sauce with spices, lots of cheese, and whatever other toppings you want.  Even the basics are really optional - it’s super malleable.  Hard to go wrong.”

He looked skeptical.

“I swear.  It’s, like, _the_ number one food in America!  I’ll make one sometime and you can judge then.”  It was as much a promise to herself as to him.  “Now ice cream is sweetened and flavored cream that’s frozen as it’s churned so that it’s...fluffy.”  She racked her brain for a better fitting term.  “I don’t think that’s the right word, but I can’t think of another for what I mean.”

 

* * *

 

Bevin laid in the grass watching clouds pass by them overhead.  Music hummed from her rarely used earbuds.  Unable to entertain herself any other way presently, thousands of thoughts fleetingly passed through her mind.  She plucked at one - her self-healing ability - and inwardly followed that river as new questions flowed.  What powered it?  How did it work?  What was the extent of it?

She held her arm out and ran fingers over where the wolf had crushed her arm within its maw several weeks ago.   It was nothing but smooth skin, no lasting blemish.  Like it had never happened.  Her hand ghosted over the left side of her ribs and stomach where she knew old, raised and hollowed scars yet remained.  At that time, nearly gutted by a territorial wolf while running away from home.

So it only healed the new, not the old.

She stared at her palm, her fingers.  No callouses, no roughness.  Nothing to show for her work and efforts here.  Nothing to remind, to prove of her trials should she be returned to her world.  She didn't have to check to know that her feet showed nothing of the miles travelled.

A sense of morbid curiosity overcame her.  Before she could talk herself out of it, one of her recovered knives was grasped tightly in her other hand.  She slid the blade over her palm, watching blood well up with a gasp and a wince.  It slowly ran down to her wrist and forearm, but she ignored it for watching the thin incision quickly mend itself.

She wiped blood out of the way - nothing.  Flexing her hand, there was no lasting pain, no sting.  Just the disappearing tingle of magic.

She did it again.  And again.  And again.

Each time, her magic would instantaneously begin healing the wound.  Gone in seconds.  The initial pain was even lessening with each cut.  All she would feel was that pass of warmth, a buzz beneath her skin as her magic went to work.

The blade was passed over her wrist, then yanked roughly from her hand.  Startled, she looked to her side to see Solas crouching over her with a scowl, shaking his head.  He said something that she couldn’t hear.  He rolled his eyes and pulled her earbuds down, unheeding of her protests.

“What?” she demanded, somewhat peeved by his sudden roughness.  Her focus had kept her from noticing his approach.

He answered as though it should be obvious, “Here I am keeping guard over you when the biggest threat to your life could yet very well be yourself.”

“It doesn’t do anything.”  She turned her arm out towards him, wiping blood away.  “See?”

“It makes a mess,” he commented, pointedly eyeing her arm and shirt where she’d been unconsciously smearing the blood.  More gently, he took hold of her hand and looked over her wrist, thumbing where the cut would have been.  The concern he had held quickly dissipated.

Another disapproving shake of his head and he stood, then marched over to his supplies.  He returned with a wetted cloth.  Sitting, he began scrubbing the drying blood from her skin.  “I realise you are not always one for appearances, though you really must consider how this may appear to others, Bevin,” he admonished.  He tossed the cloth aside and fell back beside her.

“Since you have difficulty keeping yourself out of trouble, an exercise: I would like for you to recount what happened the day you were taken by the Avvar.”  His eyes were closed now, but she could tell from the way his ear twitched that he was focused on her.

She took a deep, exasperated breath.  “Why?  You already know what happened,” she stated, hoping he wasn’t asking over what she thought he was digging at.

“I know what you shared with the others.”  He cracked an eye open.  “But that was not the whole story, was it?  From the battle at the rift, please.”

She stilled the nervous bite of her lip.  He sounded so sure that there was more - he already had to have his own theories.  She wasn’t sure what she could keep from him or if it was even worth keeping any details of what transpired secret from him.  Her spirit companion stirred but remained silent - yet recovering from this series of events.  “As you know, that battle was when I had the vision of the plague being brought back to the Crossroads and spread.  The Avvar following us took advantage of my state.  I came to slung over the shoulder of one.  Stabbed him, threw lightning at another, and I ran.

“Of course, ran to a dead end.  The mother wolf jumped out at me, defending her den.  They were the bigger threat, though, so she attacked them after they caught up.  I was running on less than fumes by that point, so I had nothing left to fight back with.”  She shivered remembering the way one of them hacked at the neck of that poor wolf.

“One found the wolf pup - Boudica - and I told them I’d go along if they didn’t hurt her.  Not entirely as magnanimous as it sounds,” she admitted, shielding her face from the sun as a cloud moved to reveal it.

“Really?”  That had surprised him.  Did he think so highly of her?

She shrugged.  “I figured if they had something that they thought could control me, they wouldn’t be as careful.”

“Did it work?” he asked.

“No idea, they weren’t exactly masterminds,” she answered with a scoff, then continued.  “I was hauled back to Hargrave and tied to the old, broken thrown.  There was some kinda symbolism there - _they_ thought it was funny.  They just danced around the main hall, ostensibly waiting for you all.  Occasionally their leader would yell and spit at me.”  Bevin could see that his brow was now furrowed in thought - weighing her words against what he saw and theorized now.

“By then my mana was restoring - somewhat more quickly from the storm.”  She partially lied, but she needed an excuse for the amount of magic she used - while the storm helped, the rate she was suggesting was practically unheard of.  “Burned through my bonds, rested further.  The next bit,” she halted, sorting her words, “might need a bit of explanation.  In a swampy area like that, there’s a lot of gas that escapes the mire and sits lowly in the air along with other pollutants.  The rain becomes acidic.  Mixed together just so, this can ignite - sometimes spontaneously.  I kept pushing at it and with an extra little spark, it all went up in flames.  Took out most of them in the initial shock.”

He appeared to take her explanation at face value.  “And their leader?”

She hesitated, though decided to be truthful.  “Ran him through with a metal bar.  Went down fairly quickly.”  But he, again, looked incredulous.  “Minor modification on a basic levitation and targeting spell to give it a bit more oomph.”  She didn't actually remember very well exactly how she’d done it, so this was more of a guess.  “It’s a little hazy there, though.  Lots was going on at once.”

“Of that, I am certain.  It was no small feat that you were able to successfully extract yourself from the Hargrave Keep alone.”  His words sounded almost leading, like he was trying to prompt her to add something more.

She didn’t dwell on it yet and continued, wanting to wrap it up.  “Found our soldiers behind the only door that was still intact.  One was still hanging on.  I only managed to get parting words.  Captain Corina Shepherd.  Her family lives in Crestwood.  Told her I’d visit them.”

“That’s noble.”  

“I wish I had something of hers to return to them,” she lamented.  “They’ll have nothing.”

“That is always a possibility of war,” Solas stated solemnly.  “She was free before her death and not alone.  That is important.”

Those words made her feel more unease.  “But the others weren’t.  Leliana wrote that she would provide me with the locations of their families.”  She intended to visit them all, though it wouldn’t be fair for them to go weeks and months believing that their loved ones yet lived.  She was crafting missives for them all to be delivered as soon as possible.  As she wanted them to be in her hand, she’d have to wait the next few weeks and rewrite them once leaving this camp behind.

He was silent only a few moments before continuing his questioning.  “When did the Avvar Mage approach you?”

Bevin sighed.  A normal person would have let the conversation die there or change the subject.  “Amund showed up once I was outside.  Not long before you guys, actually.  I hadn’t been there long.”  He pulled a face - just barely - and she felt like she had said something wrong.  She hadn’t deviated far from what she had told the others, though.  Just enough that it would seem like he was getting extras.

“We spoke some.  He said that he had heard of me.  The tales are spreading, though not all positive.  Many think that I’m just a witch playing tricks.  That I’ve no business in the Inquisition.  My ‘holy’ status isn’t holding up like Nikki’s.”  It was something that she had predicted would happen.  Her supposedly divinely gifted powers weren’t as tangible as the Herald’s.  “But he said that he believed me and in our cause to ‘heal the sky.’  So I invited him to join us.”

“He may make a worthwhile ally to have.”

“I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

As much as she kicked dirt about others invading her self-imposed quarantine, she was so relieved when the two week mark had passed.  Enough time had had gone by that no-one would blink at her returning to her duties and activities with others.  She liked Solas’ company, but she needed the dumb puns and tomfoolery that others provided to remain sane.

The one person who showed any signs of illness was now under limited contact, though he likely only had a minor cold as it already seemed to be passing after a couple days.  To be safe, they were staying put and as-is for the rest of the four week period.

There were signs that many of the others were going stir-crazy under the enforcement of the quarantine rules.  Tempers often ran hot due to frustrations of one kind or another.  Boredom was rampant.  Nikki had caught more than one couple trying to sneak off to be alone.

It was...uneventful.  But that was the point.

It also marked the ability to let up on some of their rules.  No longer was the river off limits, which allowed for much easier bathing and collecting water to boil for other uses.  The Mages would be able to relax from some of their duties.

Bevin had introduced some of the others to the music on her phone.  Rigging up directional shield magic with just a bit of trial and error, she was able to amplify the sound output to surround them better as they sat before a fire talking.  With that came the waves of questions in reaction to certain instruments and lyrics.  She was currently explaining what a discotheque was and the finer details of club life.

Nikki wasn’t making it easy for her.  Bevin tried to explain using terms and analogies with which the others would be familiar.  Nikki would throw in more modern oddities and slang, therefore requiring further explanation.  “The DJ - which is abbreviated for ‘Disc Jockey’ - is the one who controls the music.  Sometimes that means they’ll live mix the music, but it usually just means they’re in control of the playlist.  Essentially, some guy standing up at his computer doing exactly what Nikki and I are currently doing with my phone.”

Nikki hummed and added her two cents, “We don’t really call it a ‘discotheque’ in the US, though.  It’s kinda just a bar or club that happens to have music and dancing.”

“I specify,” Bevin scoffed and took a sip from her mug.  “Those are the ones I usually try to avoid.  Guys are grabbier.  Can be easier if you’re _trying_ to get laid, though.  Dancing can be fun - having to slap away hands every few seconds, is not.  I prefer the _actual_ live music venues.  Grab a stool and watch the show.”

And as much as she loved the intricacies of language - though her relationship was English was love-hate - without the help of Google, she often found herself floundering as her mind had to search for answers about particular idioms and phrases that she herself knew only from passing contextual usage.

English was _not_ her native tongue despite being born and growing up in the US.  Her family had made sure that she’d had little contact with it until well into her teens.  She worked hard for fluency and masked her accent, but those familiar with the language on a deeper level usually picked up pretty fast that she hadn’t been speaking it very long.  The forced immersion certainly helped - English was spoken everywhere else she went.

Here, no-one knew.   There was a level of ‘different’ that many expected when interacting with her and Nikki.  If she misspoke or used irregular phrasing, it was chalked up to the quaintness of their language and being foreigners.

“What’s your poison of choice, Seer?  Not joining the rest of us, I’ve noticed.”  The Iron Bull had caught on that she hadn’t been drinking with them any of the times they’d passed around the tankards.  Even Nikki was sipping at her own cup.

“I don’t really drink.”  She shrugged, leaving it at that.  Evidently this was practically incomprehensible to the rest, though the Iron Bull in particular was eyeing her like she’d issued a challenge.

Nikki was the first to voice her skepticism, much to Bevin’s chagrin, “How do you not drink?  You’re Irish!  I thought your blood would practically be Guinness.”

“ _Feisigh leat…_ ” she muttered, exasperation for the evening growing.  “Remember, I didn’t grow up in Ireland proper, I grew up in a marsh cult in Louisiana.”

“And hillbilly, backwoods cults _aren’t_ known for their moonshine?” Nikki countered.  Touché.  “Also, you’re English is really good for someone who hasn’t been speaking it very long.”

“Meh, I hated learning English.  Like, I only did because it was a necessary evil - Irish isn’t really spoken, well, _anywhere_ in the US.  But there are so many things in the language that make no goddamn sense and are outright bizarre.  It takes bits and pieces from other languages but often only partly incorporates them.  Like half a verb tense.”  Her friends back home were great and all, but they gave her so much crap sometimes, especially during the early days of her undergrad.  “Can you imagine how difficult it is for someone ESL to learn that there is a difference between something like, ‘this is shit’ versus ‘this is the shit’?  Or how ‘butt dialling’ and ‘booty call’ are apparently two completely different things?”  Bevin pouted at the memory provoked.  Dom had given her no amount of reprieve from that misspoken blunder.

Nikki smirked at her with a waggle of her eyebrows, “Care to explain that difference for the class?”

“Uh,” her face reddened as she blanched.  She straightened and put on her best academic tone.  “‘Butt dialling’ is slang for accidentally calling someone,” she held up her phone for emphasis, “- it was more common on older model cell phones that had physical buttons to press.  ‘Booty calling,’ however, is calling or texting someone with the explicit intent of soliciting them for sex.”  Nikki cracked up, spurring on her own giggles.  “‘Eey baby, you wan’ some fuck?’  Eggplant emoji,” she mimed texting in facsimile of a common...well, she was loathe to call it _‘message_.’

Krem was vaguely disgusted, judging by his face contorting, but curious.  “People actually do that?”

Bevin sneered with a roll of her eyes, “ _Oh_ , yeah.  Should see my inboxes.”

“Do you think in English?” Nikki asked.

“If I had a dollar… Yes, Nikki, I think in English.”  This was one of the most common questions she was asked.  Right alongside, ‘Say something in Irish!’ after discovering that, yes, Irish is in fact a language.  “But it’s more like, whatever I’m around the most at the time is the language I use in my head.  If I’m just by myself and at home or whatever, I’ll usually think in Irish.  That’s my base state.  If I’m spending time with you guys, though, or buried in study books, my thoughts are just in English, Common, whatever.”  She gestured around the group.  “You could ask the same of anyone here whose native tongue isn’t Common - you’d likely get similar answers.”  She was met with some nods and shrugs of agreement.

Nikki kept skipping the non-English songs that came up.  Bevin pulled her phone away from the other woman, going back to the upbeat k-pop song.  “I like that one.”

“I don’t wanna listen to stuff I don’t understand.”  Nikki shrugged with a grimace.  “It’s just words all mashed together that don’t make any sense to me.”

To that, she replied with a memory of her childhood, “A cousin of mine had a walkman - a music player like my phone - when we were little.  I used to _beg_ him to let me use it when we were together.  Couldn’t understand a word of it, and his English sucked, but it was my first taste of an outside world.  How I knew there was more.”

“I’d like to hear more of this crazy clan of yours.”  Krem was staring down the empty bottom of his tankard.  “You mention it sometimes, but I don’t think most of us have heard much of the story.”

Bevin reflexively smiled in her discomfort.  It wasn’t something that she wanted to talk about, but maybe it would be best to give them all something now just to keep them satisfied.  Though she reckoned they were looking more for the outrageous stories, always humorous to outsiders, rather than the tales of child abuse and murder.

Her eye caught on her pup waddling over the containment stones of another fire several feet away.  She sighed.  The darwinism was a bit strong in this one.  “Excuse me, someone’s about to discover that fire’s fuckin’ hot.”  She stood and calmly walked over, not wanting to startle the pup.  It would probably be best if she discovered this herself, escaping with minor burns instead of falling over her own feet into the fire.

Boudi was attracted to the smell of the cooking meat rigged up over the fire.  After the first alarmed yip as her foot landed in the glowing embers, Bevin scooped her up with a disapproving sound.  She turned her paw up to assess the damage.  “You’re fine,” she said, not wanting to coo at her for doing something dumb.

She set her down and bid her to follow.  “We’ll get supper soon.”

Rejoining the others, she sat back down on her spot on the log with Boudi flopping at her feet.

Krem had picked up on her reluctance and voiced his concern.  “If you would rather not share any more, that’s fine.  I understand it’s probably not something you have many fond memories of.”

She sighed.  “When I refer to them as ‘crazy,’ I mean that they were abusive shitheads.  Don’t get me wrong, they had their bizarre quirks, but it all runs together when you grow up in those conditions.”  She had meant to stop there, but once she started, it was hard not to keep rambling on.  “From when I was born, I was raised under their ideology.  By the time I was two years old, I was reciting verses of the holy book.  I was a very willful child, which is at odds of how children, especially girls, should act under their teachings.”

“My mother often pretended I didn’t exist and my father openly resented me for not being male.  I was a mistake since they were not able to conceive more children.  Yet I was also expected to be perfect - which is something I could never come close to achieving in my father’s eyes.  I could recite whole books of the bible - their holy book - by memory in two and three languages, and be belted for not doing it in the order he’d randomly decided he wanted them in without telling me.  I could be playing a piece at the piano and have my hands caned for any reason he thought up.  The offense of the moment.  In turn, I’d act out which, of course, only made it worse.”  She was silent, staring into the fire in thought.  “Nikki could tell you the more typical experience of growing up Catholic.”

The other woman shook her head with a shrug.  “It wasn’t terribly different from how many grow up believing in the Maker and Andraste here.  Maybe a little more organized in communities.  My family isn’t very strict or anything.”

“So how do you think the Maker compares to your God?” someone asked.

Nikki answered readily enough, “Surprisingly, there are actually a lot of similarities…”  She went on to spin them the familiar stories and histories that she had grown up with.  For once, Nikki’s answers seemed thoughtful and pensive, perhaps belying her own time spent trying to make sense of everything within her personal framework of beliefs.  Nikki left her answers vague enough that those who believed in the Maker could feel some comfort in not having their own beliefs radically challenged.

Being a non-believer in any kind of deity, it was a topic that Bevin largely avoided speaking about with others here.  She didn’t think either of them were god-sent in a time of need, but others found needed solace in such thoughts.  Solas was really the only one who had ever seemed to enjoy picking her brain about such a topic, finding that they largely shared similar beliefs.  Varric would, too, but she always got the feeling it was for ulterior, literary, motivations.

She found it difficult to bring up the topic of the ancient Elvhen gods.  She wanted to know more but recognized that it was an odd thing to speak of without reason.  Now, more than ever, did she believe that they were simply a powerful cloister of Mages who took advantage of their skills.  It was fascinating to think that stories and histories from here may have made it to her world.

Despite supposedly having one of them bouncing around her head, answers were hard to come by.  Mythal was steadfastly evasive to her questioning.  Other elves had stories, but they’d often come across as incomplete and conflicting.  Little was written down, so histories and such were kept orally.  It was hard to get much out of the ones who still worshipped the pantheon - as a human, she was an outsider in almost every way.  The non-Dalish were a little more open about such things, but they were largely Andrastian with little knowledge of some of the more traditional teachings.

There were few who would share knowledge for the sake of knowledge and sating simple curiosities.

 

* * *

 

Bevin opted to meander a ways down the river to bathe in privacy.  Her pup stumbled along at her heels, stopping frequently out of distraction to chase some odd movement or scent.  Boudi wasn’t exactly the stealthiest of little hunters, so Bevin never really worried too much about her wandering off without being noticed.

The setting sun was warm upon her skin, a welcome change to the typically brisk air.  She found a spot well out of sight of the others, yet still within her sensory range.  Close enough that they wouldn’t worry over her - or, well, most wouldn’t and Solas had left to go plant collecting.  What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

She dropped her bathing supplies on the bank.  The river ran slow and a few feet deep here.

Not bothering to visually check her surroundings out of confidence in her inner radar, she stripped quickly of her clothing, throwing it all in a pile close enough to be able to grab should the need arise.  She laughed as Boudica plunked herself down on her robes to rest, finding comfort in her scent.

Rubbing her arms, Bevin warmed the air around her as she dipped a foot into the river.  Coming from the mountains, the water was quite cold.  This would only be an inconvenience momentarily as her magic did its work to warm the water a bit upstream.  While the change was noticeable, the water was still fairly cold, though much more mild.  She was afraid that doing more, even if only for a brief time, would cause harm to the localized ecosystem - minimizing footprints and all that.

She had just begun wetting her hair when her parasite of a second soul brought an approaching energy to her attention.  She hadn’t thought much of it, coming from where they all camped, until focusing on the actual signature.  It moved somewhat aimlessly enough through the forest that she knew he was likely lost to his thoughts and paying little heed to where he was headed.  A couple dozen yards from the forest line on that side of the river, Solas’ current trajectory would be passing her within a few minutes.

Grinning to herself, she asked Mythal,  _“How close you think he’ll get?”_

 _“Enough,”_ was the reply imparted.

She knew the moment he stopped, just out of sight, that he had spied her.  There was slower movement as the energy continued to approach.  Rising back up and wiping water and strands of hair from her face, she bit her lip to keep from laughing.  Bevin continued taking her time, pretending to be unaware of his lurking presence.  There might have been a bit more exaggerated movement to tease the elf.

Given what she knew of him, it was kind of surprising that he stayed to watch.  It ran contrary to his typical considerate nature.

 _“A man enamoured will do much contrary to his nature,_ da’len _.”_

She could almost swear she heard a curse as she moved towards the shallower water off the bank to pick up the next product for her hair.

As always, Bevin was careful to keep the expanse of her back hidden.  It hadn’t been purposeful at first, but no-one here even knew she had the elaborate tattoo, and she felt that spared her from a lot of the usual probing questions.

 _“You don’t think he’s really..._ enamoured _, do you?”_  The word seemed too strong.  If so, she kind of felt bad.  She had issues with commitment and knew it.  While things had very slowly gotten better over the years, she still had problems with attachment and expressing feelings in general.  If he wanted a serious connection beyond what they had, she wasn’t sure that she could provide it.

Flings were easy.  Few, if any, emotions were involved.  They had a simple course.  They didn’t linger longer than needed or wanted.  Usually.

 _“Were he only interested in a ‘fling,’ he would not be spending so much time and effort wooing you.”_  

She sniffed, skeptical.   _“Effort?  What effort?”_  Almost everything she could recall catching - the lingering touches and glances, the steady invasion of her personal space - had been so indistinct that that she now wondered if she had missed other attentions completely.

 _“Traditionally, Elves court much longer than humans,”_ Mythal explained.   _“You may not be able to recognize his attempts, but I do.  I am confident that he is - slowly, perhaps - adapting to that which he believes you are familiar.  Or at least making an attempt.  You are more used to the...less than subtle courting techniques of human males in your own world.”_

Her days of online dating were brought to mind. _“Yeah, we’ve made it super simple, what with just being able to toss your intended target a shot of your junk at any time.  Really gets the point across.”_

_“As he learns, as you respond, he will become bolder.  Though do you really suppose that he would not be considerate of your feelings on the matter?”_

_“No.”_  Solas was not the type to keep pushing.  And she respected him enough that she should extend him the courtesy of not assuming that he wouldn’t want or be able to deal with her insecurities if he was really interested in her that way.

 _“Perhaps you should speak to him of it.  There is another presence approaching,”_ Mythal voiced what she had already detected.

 _“A ram,”_ she deduced.  It was closing in on Solas’ position.   _“Still have to find the time and space to talk to him without other ears around.  Kinda hard here.”_  Her head canted, ears straining for the faint sounds of the forest.   _“I’d love to scare the shit out of him.  Wonder how he’d react to being caught peeping?”_  Or thinking he’d been caught.  She felt the spirit grin her approval.

A few more steps from the ram and she let lightning carry her the distance to the treeline.  She caught the hind end of the ram rushing off and let her magic dissipate.  The sneaky elf had taken up the tree with an unexpected quickness.  It took every ounce of restraint she had to not look up and instead turn on her heel to head back to the river.

Her steps were slow and deliberate, pausing halfway there to stretch her arms above her head with a yawn and wiggle of her backside.  He didn’t stay much longer, disappearing in such a rush after several paces that she was sure that he had stepped into the Fade to escape.

 _“I wish I could see his face,”_ the spirit chuckled darkly. _“How do you feel knowing that he is most likely off relieving himself to thoughts of you?”_

Bevin nearly choked on her own tongue hearing her words.  She knew it was a possibility, albeit perhaps distantly in her mind, but hadn’t been prepared to have it out there so flagrantly.  To be honest, it made a part of her giddy to think that she could have that kind of effect on someone normally so composed.  Though it did feel a bit off that said person was her own mentor.

 _“I suppose since he’s off now, I’ll have some time to practice my waterbending again.”_  When she had started, she hadn’t intended for it to be something - another thing - she’d keep hidden from him, especially given his rather open approach to magic, but it had become an Art that was _hers_.  Solas maneuvered Ice and Water so fluidly that he’d probably be able to adapt it into his own repertoire with ease…

Mythal mumbled in Elvhen before responding to her progressively negative thoughts, _“You give yourself too little credit,_ da’len _.  Your own talents are nothing at which to scoff.  Most students would yet be struggling to learn how to step with the Fade.  And here you are bringing new life to water manipulation.  It is merely difficult as you are adverse natured, which will be mitigated in time by your persistence.”_  There was an odd sensation that she couldn’t describe within her mind as she concentrated on elongating the globe of water before her.   _“There are a great many other magic techniques I should like to see you try,”_ Mythal said pensively.

Images started appearing in her mind, causing her to halt her work and drop the water sphere.  _“Uh...I’m not so certain how viable most of these would be.”_  She was watching a bizarre montage of anime magic, of all things…  The waterbending had several minutes of beginner’s learning steps, these, however, were end result techniques.   _“Is that you going through my head?”_ Bevin exclaimed.  She barely even remembered some of these, but they were apparently in her head somewhere.

The spirit shrugged off her words.  _“I am certain that if anyone could utilize them, it would be you, my dear.  Illusory magic is an area that you’ve not yet much explored, however, it would pair well with your defensive magic.  It was not my area of expertise, though I may be able to provide some assistance.  It is not so dissimilar to manipulating the Fade from within - you are reshaping the Veil to affect what others perceive.  Replacing their reality with one you create.”_  A select few played again.  _“I like the idea of this one, and this.”_

 _“I do kinda like the shadow thing,”_ Bevin acquiesced.  _“No idea how I’d actually do it, though.  Where would I start?”_  Her eyes fell to her clothes, simultaneously wondering if she would get dressed instead of standing randomly in the middle of the river doing nothing by all outward appearances.

The pictures vanished, replaced by the summoned idea of a specific set of glyphs.  Mythal began outlining her thoughts for how to recreate it, _“How about bounded entrapment glyphs?  Movement like such would be dictated by your mana.  It then triggers upon reaching the desired object.”_

Bevin moved to lean back on a sheer portion of the riverbank.   _“I can see that as a start.  Would need some tweaking for that kind of end result…  I think I remember reading about a Necromancy technique that I could maybe repurpose.  Maybe I’ll ask Dorian for his thoughts.”_

 

* * *

 

 _He was hunting._  The more she learned, the more skilled she became, the more intense their training sessions grew.  She challenged him at every turn with her wit, unwilling to back down when he threw more at her.  These were becoming more than mere friendly spares.

She deftly ran between trees, a reflected memory of the forest near which they slept, though enhanced to be made denser to better suit their needs.  Trap glyphs were dropped at every turn as he watched the vague sparks sputter and dim from where he caught his breath on an overlooking cliff.  She was making her way to the lake.

As the effects of her Fade-stepping disappeared, he hopped down, intending to skirt the forest and head straight to her goal.  It would be a lot harder to steal the token she was protecting if she got it in the deep waters.  The Fade folded around him and quickly carried him forward.

He crouched near the treeline as he waited for her to approach.  When she did not show, he focused his senses on the forest for sign of her.  Distantly, he heard a curse.  His head tilted in thought - curiously, she was doubling back.  Perhaps she had sensed him waiting and retreated.

His barrier encompassed him as he stepped through the forest after her, mindful of the wards and traps littered upon bark and the forest floor.  Most were easily recognized and avoided, but Bevin was keen on using the conspicuous to distract from the inconspicuous.  A flash of auburn hair through the branches at last and he gave chase.

When he caught up, she was circling the trunk of a large tree and looking about it with her brow furrowed in confusion.  She ducked behind the tree to dodge his Winter’s Grasp spell, reappearing on the other side, still scanning the ground before taking off again.

Electricity crashed into his barrier, making him briefly pause lest it set off the exploding glyphs just out of arm’s reach away.

Bevin passed behind him, still twirling around the trees with her eyes to the ground.  He laughed, taking off to another area she had previously run through instead of following her.  “You lost it?” he called out, disbelievingly.  When met with nothing but distant curses and silence, his suspicions were confirmed.  She had dropped the token somewhere.

Moments later, he heard her running after him.  Undoubtedly turning to offense when determining she was wasting time trying to find it when she merely had to keep it out of his hands until morning.

Ice rose before him in a wall to guard against a barrage of fireballs.  Though not as accurate as when she used her staff, she clearly had few struggles keeping up the power behind her spells.  Her magic had gained an air of wildness, a rawness that was rarely felt in this time.

He let her come to him, rounding trees from his left.  Magic glowed defensively across her skin.  Eyes sharply trained on him, she swept loosened curls out of her face.  He dispelled the glyph just over his shoulder into which she was pushing mana.

It was perpetually twilight this time, but he estimated there was not much longer until dawn.  Should he win, she would allow him access to her phone once more - during which he intended to continue reading the wizarding world books from which she was pulling so much working knowledge.  Should she win, he had promised a new spell.  He had not expected it to become this close of a trial.

Reflecting, he regretted admonishing her those days ago for attempting to study her self-healing ability.  Her natural inquisitiveness would merely drive her to be more secretive in her efforts if she thought he disapproved.  She had soon after begun a line of questioning that he in part feared would quickly lead her to experimenting with external mana retention.  Her healing ability only worked as long as she had sufficient mana.  Her own retention was growing by leaps, though she made it clear that she was concerned of becoming too reliant on her own healing.  If injured during a trying battle, she wanted a way to ensure that she still had a backup from which to draw.  Something akin to a foci as it were...

“Have you decided what you’ll be teaching me?”  She goaded with a grin.

“You’ve not yet won, _da’len_.”  He brought up panels of ice around her, intending to encase her within.  Fire sprung to life across the surface of her barrier, beginning to melt ice as it grew.  He wasted no time taking off again.

Perhaps it was cheating using his knowledge of the Fade to signal to him where the token had been misplaced.  Though as he honed in on it and looked up, he realised that he was not the only one playing tricks.  It was no accident that the token had been hung over halfway up the tree, woven around branches.  Had he more time, he would have continued to search along the ground as she had mimicked.

He felled the slender branches holding the token and caught them deftly, beginning to unwind the cord from around them and tossing aside the twigs.

The weight of her slammed into his side, knocking him off balance and to the ground.  He stared up, stunned that she had tackled him.  Snatching the token from the branch within his grasp, she went to throw it, but he caught her arm on the backswing.  Wrenching it back, she yipped as the rest of her body followed down as he sat up.  He managed to flip their positions but a blast of magic sent the token flying from her palm.

He watched it fall several feet away.  She wriggled free of his hold and with a shove at his chest, pushed him up far enough with the aid of her barrier magic that she was able to roll out from under him and gain her footing once more.

She scooped up the token as she ran by it, prompting him to bolt after her.  Laughter met his ears as they wove between the trees.  Sparks flew from a glyph activating at his elbow as he passed too closely.  She spun gracelessly from a summoned ice trap.  He used the opening to catch her wrist, the momentum jerking her back into him.

They fell in a tangle of limbs, each grasping for the token as it dropped and bounced from their hands.  She arched her back and shoulders under him, reaching an arm above her head to where it fell beyond them.  Lightning shot from her fingers and struck the coin in a fierce explosion of sparks, forcing his head to duck away reflexively.  The shrill ringing of the metal pierced the air and it fractured, pieces sent flying in all directions.

He stared at the burnt spot where it had been whole moments before feeling a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.  He could only shake his head as her giggling came low and breathy.  She sank to the ground, muscles relaxing from their prior strain.

Still half over her, he allowed his body to give, just slightly.  Enough to feel her chest rising against his own.  The vestiges of her magic sang along his skin, making him shiver and creating a new tension.

His forehead dropped to her shoulder, feeling the warmth coming from her skin.  He mumbled, “I believe that is cheating.”  His words only prompted another fit of laughter from her.  He inhaled deeply to steady his breathing and immediately wished he hadn’t for want of doing it again.  She smelled of sweat and forest and something that was so definitively _Bevin_.  Yet there was a wisp of something that resonated with him and stirred his lust...

He lifted his head.  Her face and neck were flushed red from exertion, eyes half-lidded and lips parted.

Their harsh breaths mingled in the air between them.  Transfixed, the impulse struck him and he gave into it.

As his lips brushed hers, it was though the moment shattered as she disappeared from beneath him.  He pushed himself back to sit on his heels and worry took root in his stomach.

He had scented her interest.  Had he read her wrong?  Acted with too much haste?  Had something else pulled her from the Fade?  

The last thought alarmed him further and he urged himself to awaken.  No wards had been tripped...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> “Feisigh leat” = Irish, "fuck you"


End file.
